Tossing and Tortured 'Till Dawn

2011-10-17T14:56:00.000-07:00

I saw quite a few Guy Fawkes masks this morning, and, I will admit -- especially as a fan of "V for Vendetta," and, one who enjoys the IDEA of rebellion, marching against the Man, whoever that may be. (I'm the fucking man, and you're the fucking man as well?)

And, yet, I suppose I am "moderate" in my views on banking. It makes the world go round, right?

I have found myself in a number of conversations about banking of late. Yours truly has one foot solidly planted in the middle class, but another which, if feet had memories, would remember what it is like to borrow money to pay rent.

The below was my response to a discussion about the matter, and I thought I'd save it here.

This is where it comes down to a matter of politics and philosophy, I suppose.

"Greed" is a funny thing. I think what people are concerned about is that banking is very good business, and makes a lot of people a great deal of money -- but by and large the people who make money through banking already have a great deal of it.

Of the great deal of money to be made in the banking sector, a fairly modest amount of it is in the simple retail banking section as is traditionally explained -- that is, taking in money on deposit and lending it out at interest.

To increase profitability of retail banking, corporate banks like BofA raise a bunch of money through fees. New legislation has curtailed the old fees, which tended to be "under the hood," if you will -- such as the old way of doing overdraft fees, or, over-the-limit fees on a credit card. The new ones are more overt, like the debit card fee, or, account maintenance fees / annual membership fees for credit cards.

Yes, coporations are people, as we've recently heard, but some people object to the transfer regime from lower-income folks to those with higher incomes, and, especially, with higher wealth.

The first two quintiles of income, as bank consumers, especially in the previous era, paid money for the services they received. The higher income / wealth folks largely received money for keeping their money with the bank -- and of course the highest compensated employees of those banks also earned lots.

I'd suspect most of those mid-to-lower income folks, if asked up front if they'd like to pay for their bank account with, for instance, $150 annually in fees, they might have demurred. Since they did not expect to pay them on the "free account," this was easier, and the fees snuck up on them when they fell foul of the fine print.

Now that the fees, of, say, $8 per month for the account and $5 per month for the debit card, are out in the open, many are electing to flee to the relative respite of credit unions -- which still work to earn money for stakeholders, but, do not have to be concerned with nondepositor shareholders, large executive salaries, or, indeed, taxes on their profits. This last is an oft-forgotten cost advantage of credit unions with respect to retail banks.

I do not fault for-profit banks for charging for their services, but I believe the way that they were previously collected was and still disingenuous.

Note: I agree with recent changes, like the Fed's banning of overdraft fees without preauthorization, even though these changes cost me money. I read the fine print. I didn't pay a dime in these overdraft charges, credit card overlimit fees, what have you. Instead, I reaped the rewards of cashback bonus debit and credit programs, even though those programs were funded with the fees paid by less-fortunate, less-attentive customers.

I think everyone ought to watch where they walk. But, simply placing a sign reading "caution! Mines!" and providing a small-print map of their location does not mean I agree with collecting the valuables of those who misread or ignored the map and were blown up.

SO: Do you like playing minesweeper?

2011-10-10T14:13:00.001-07:00

You're still out there?

Wow, I'm kind of touched.

2011-10-07T20:07:00.000-07:00

I’ve promised a few people that I’d write up my take on this year’s High Pass Challenge, which rolls 112 miles from Packwood, WA up what has become one of my favorite climbs – Mt St Helens, up to Windy Ridge overlook. I have only done this climb twice, but once I am back to the base I am already planning my next visit.

Great roads, spectacular scenery, almost none of the congested traffic that plagues any of the Rainier climbs.

As a reformed racer, I feel a little like I am stealing kids’ lunch money, doing rides like these. I may not have bothered to sign up for a USAC license this year, instead contenting myself with cycling to work and some fairly aimless “training” slugfests. When the opportunity arises to do a competitive ride up a mountain, how can I resist?

Five hundred riders queue up at the start line for High Pass, and, the crowd is something between the come-as-you-are circus that is Seattle-to-Portland, and the grim-faced bunch of assassins at Ronde van Oeste Portlandia.

But, wait: there is an official start line here. There are barricades and an announcer. Heck, I am handed a timing chip at the sign-on. What have I signed up for? By the time I finish the last minute used coffee disposal, there are already a couple hundred riders stacked up by the start. Forget that: I duck under some tape at near the front of the bunch and observe the moment of silence the director announces on this tenth anniversary of 9/11.

Seven a.m. exactly, and we’re rolling, but this is no race start. Nobody launches all out, hell-or-glory attacks, there is simply a turbine-like spooling up of riders as the pack quickly sorts itself out into those who want to prove themselves against the clock, and those who simply want to finish.

It’s about fifteen miles to the base of the climb, and, though I do a couple of quick turns at the front, I have no interest in flogging myself on the flats. We cruise along at a moderately fast pace – twenty-six? Twenty-seven?

The monotony of the remote highway twelve is broken by a race team’s train, which has finally gotten itself organized, hitting the front. At first I think the pace will increase, but, as soon as it starts, suddenly there is chaos: riders fan out over both lanes of the road. The race team pulls over to the side, and the mismatched pack at the front rearranges itself. I will later find that one of the racers broke a pair of spokes on his high-zoot wheels, and the team pulled over to help him out. Whoops.

I recognize the café at the turn at the microscopic town of Randle, WA, as the place where the flat stops. I make the turn, glance around at the other riders at the front of the pack. I wonder how many of them have done this climb before? The first couple of miles are some of the steepest of the whole ride.

For a few beats, I set a false tempo, waiting to see if there will be a flurry of matches burned as riders throw themselves at the mountain. Nothing happens. I briefly recall a movie character saying, “my turn,” but I cannot remember who it is.

A deep breath, and, I’m riding my tempo – out of the saddle, an over-geared metronome, I do set my watch to 350 watts and ease into the pain. The first thirty seconds, you always feel like a superhero. The next minute, a superstar. After that, it’s all reality: lungs, legs, heartbeat in your ears.

Five minutes or so, and the first rise in the road is over. I back off and flick a glance over my shoulder to see who’s left – maybe a dozen riders, with another dozen a pace behind. I let a couple of characters drive the pace on the false flat section for the next couple of miles and allow myself to enjoy the beauty of the area. This is great stuff. It’s dry today, but has rained recently enough the everything is green, fresh, alive. The mountain mist hangs in the air, redolent, storybook-like, amazing.

And, like that, we’re back to climbing. From here, we’ve got maybe fifteen miles, all uphill, and a rolling seven before the turnaround. I rise out of the saddle, pull back on the bars, and make sure my legs know the plan: no sudden accelerations. This isn’t a race. Don’t try to break people. No need to hide the hard work. Just ride.

A few miles later, we get to a stop sign and a narrow wooden bridge. Somehow a rider fell from this a couple of years ago. We cautiously cross, snowmelt still pooling over the road, and I count the riders with me: six. I get to the front again and chat with the guys I find up there. Skinny college-aged rider in an unmarked jersey takes the pace for a moment, but, it is too slow. I take back over and introduce myself.

College seems capable and composed here, but at some point on the mountain he will fall off. I recognize Ecker – he’s got TT bars. Some guy has a camelbak. A grizzled veteran seems to have fallen out of bed in 1994. Local race team kit has stars-and-bars on his sleeves: he’s won a national championship at some discipline. Another racer has full dress on: Carbon rig, Record components, and expensive carbon-fiber wheels.

This is the last I will see of these riders until the top. No looking back, no attempt to get anyone else to share the road, no cagey tactics to save some energy for the finish: it is in these ways that not being a true race is liberating. Up we ride. More amazing scenery. We climb of the trees into the volcano’s blast zone. Spartan, dead, at a glance, but really an impressive amount of life returning.

An hour or so climb crawls by. These are the moments I live for, a sort of memento mori, where life is measured in seconds, minutes, not years. Who cares what tomorrow will bring, after all, when one is counting heartbeats?

I think from time to time that someone will pass me, but, nobody does. Upward, upward.

Finally, the climb is over, and we are rolling down again – no dramatic single summit, this, but a gradual rolling ten miles along a ridgeline, a little bit up, a little bit down. Behind and beside me are still five, and we take turns sharing the pace on the flatter sections.

There’s one guy who I don’t understand: Grizzled 1994. He’s been on the same ride as everyone else, but he decides to attack the little rollers? I mean, it’s not a real, committed attack, exactly, but it is a noticeable acceleration. Power meters don’t lie, and he’s clearly gunning it.

Fine. Whatever. I roll to the front and force him to pick a pace, and sit on his wheel, for a few minutes, and he eventually drifts back into the group.

At each of several viewpoint turnouts, there is a noticeable anticipation in the group. Is this it? Is this the end? My legs, too, feel the burn from the climb. A few more magnificent corners, and we roll through the long loop of the parking lot at the end. That’s it for the out – time to head back.

Things get a little odd from here. Two turn straight around. Two stop at the restroom. Everyone catches their breath. Those relatively few feet of “up” on the return trip are the part where life feels the hardest. Ouch.

We stop for water long enough to fill bottles, and roll on down the mountain. The group gradually reforms, minus a couple. The descent is amazing. Twists, turns, but no hairpins, one can leave it wide open pretty well the entire way – though the pavement quality fails miserably at times. That’s got to be the ice and snow, over the winter.

I lose a bottle, nearly full, on a massive crack that looked shallower at thirty-five miles an hour. Whoops. I feel much faster descending than my usual cautious self, keeping pace, if barely, with Ecker, in front of me. Dang aerobars. Well, and, he's good at it. He's going fast.

So fast, in fact, that he misses the one crucial turn, despite my shouts of “wrong way,” and ends up taking the shortcut down the mountain. I mean, no, not the crashing kind. Just the way that cuts ten miles off the ride. One other rider goes wrong with him, and someone else has been dropped.

Now it is just three riders who regroup on the one lane, poorly paved little forest service road back into town: super racer, and, dude with the camelbak. guess the fred thing was a ruse, and the water was just to avoid stopping. Slick. We were meant to stay on this the entire rest of the trip, but a mudslide has washed the road out ahead, forcing us back onto the highway.

The last twenty miles are a blur. I’m pretty much cooked. Another companion pulls the ripcord and relaxes. Then, we do – dropping from twenty-five to a mere twenty miles an hour for a few miles, until we realize we are there.

And that, as they say, is that.

Great ride, everyone.

Thanks to the Cascade Bike Club for putting on an event like this. Tons of fun.

2011-08-15T10:36:00.000-07:00

Goldilocks and Argentius

Saturday morning, I woke up at about seven to a cloudy August dawn. We had most of the windows open, since it was a pretty humid night – living in the city, I suppose I’ve grown accustomed to ignoring the noises of people going about their nightly business.

I brush my teeth, dress, and walk downstairs, but do a double-take when I get to the couch. There’s a young lady with curly black hair laying on it. She seems to have found the throw blanket and pillow I keep at the end of the couch. On the plus side, she looks comfortable. On the other hand, I’ve never seen her before in my life.

Sometimes yours truly can be fairly verbose, but all I could think to say was, “Woah. Who are you?”

She’s awake before I get to the base of the stairs, furrows her eyebrows together, and looks around my house quickly. “Um. Kim?” She winces, a little. That’s definitely last night’s dress she’s got on.

“Okay, Kim… so, you probably know what I’m going to ask next,” I say. I probably furrow my eyebrows back.

“Believe me, I’m just as confused as you are,” she says. “I don’t even know where this is. I mean, where is this?”

I tell her what intersection we are on, which turns out to be almost fifty blocks from where she lives. I’ve slowly looked around the house – nothing appears out of place. The change jar, and my keys, even, are still on the sideboard. I delete the numerals nine, one, and one, from my phone, without hitting “send.”

At this point my equally confused better half comes down to see what the voices are about. I tell her, “It looks like we have an unexpected guest, dear – and one who did not expect to be staying here any more than we did. M, this is Kim.”

I’ll give her credit for taking this all in stride. M is a pretty down-to-earth-girl. She looks a little surprised, but that’s it. “Oh. Hi, Kim. Do you, ah, need some aspirin? And, I think these are your shoes, they were in the yard.” She hands over a pair of black, strappy heels.

Our very own Goldilocks considers this for a moment, accepts the shoes, declines the aspirin. “Listen, I’m really sorry about all of this. I keep trying, but I can’t remember a bit of how I got here. I was at a bachelorette party… but that was on thirty-eighth. That’s a couple of miles away. Do you two, like, know Paul, or something? I thought maybe I ended up at his house. God, this is why I don’t go out.”

Neither of us is, or knows, Paul. There is a sense of resignation, and, a bit of relief on Kim’s face. Even if Encyclopedia Brown isn’t here to solve the mystery, at least nobody’s in any immediate danger, right? Kim inspects her belongings. I bring her a glass of water. She’s got her ID and wallet, but, no phone. I loan her mine, she makes a couple of quick calls.

She assures whoever’s on the other end of the line that she is safe, that she ended up somehow at some “really nice people’s” house, but that she has no idea where or how.

“Kim, I don’t mean to, I guess, rush you, but, we are off to breakfast. Can I call you a cab? Do you have everything? I mean, except for your phone, I guess.”

She agrees, and gathers her things. At first, I thought she was younger, but now I think she’s at least a couple of years older than my twenty-nine. She will have a strange story to tell when she gets home, I suppose. I call the cab.

Wherever you are, Goldlocks – I mean, Kim – take care of yourself, okay?

2011-06-24T16:05:00.000-07:00

This one's for Krushor

PS #1 -- Call this reverse psychology.
PS #2 -- I do appreciate the irrelevance of this topic for proles like yours truly.

2011-06-05T19:03:00.000-07:00

Hey Millionaires! Tacoma needs you.

Yours truly naturally finds himself with some bleeding-heart tendences. After all, at twenty-nine, he has grown up in a generation in which the rich have gotten richer, but the average worker has grown … more average

Being if anything closer to the latter, he of course wonders if this is fair, right, and just.

Yet today, Tacoma needs a millionaire to help himself.

Have a look at this stately old home, would you? It’s for sale in my town. Perhaps Jay Gatsby would’ve turned up his nose at merely ten thousand square feet, but, ten thousand! The place is full of beauty, art, and history. It must be saved, preserved – the whole of human experience is bettered by the existence of places like this.

(neither the author nor anyone he knows has any involvement in or gain, financial or otherwise, to be made from the property referenced above)

Yet, it is five times the size of, and a greater multiple in price than, my own humble abode. Never in my wildest dreams could I afford such a residence, nor, to be honest, would I want to, solo. This DIY die-hard would be utterly drowned by projects – trim painting, glazing, recaulking, tuck-pointing, would overcome my life. Who would maintain the garden on its half-acre lot? Who would polish the marble and clean the flues of the six fireplaces?

And, yet, somebody must. One would suspect, when the place went up – especially in an age before power tools, let alone Swiffers and roombas – that such menial tasks would’ve been performed by the help, and I suppose if given the chance I wouldn’t much mind being the painter and groundskeeper here, if it meant I could call it home and come and go as I pleased.

Take a look at the real-estate listing for the place. It’s fantastic. They do not, as the expression truthfully tells, make them like they used to.

As I turned it about in my head, I briefly thought of an amusing idea: what if there were half a dozen similarly minded people as myself*? After all, the house boasts eight bedrooms. There’s plenty of space for everyone, and we could all share the views out that fabulous parlor as we shared a drink and a word. We’d each pay no more than the price of a fairly average apartment!

* No, gentle reader, these thoughts are by no means serious. There is no means readily available to execute them, anyway.

The thought experiment, though, quickly ends in the failure similar to that known as the tragedy of the commons, otherwise known as “why everyone beats the living tar out of rental cars.”

What I don't understand is why this should be. Sure, I've know a few groups of people who all collectively run a household. But, these are largely young folks just getting started in their lives, and a central aspect of these group homes is that nobody lives there permanently -- everyone is a renting tenant, and an absentee owner uses the place as a source of income.

Capitalismus victor!

I think of this as I look around the city streets in my new hometown, and think of things like "pride of ownership." Neighbor A, for instance, is a middle-class homeowner not too different from yours truly. He has a lawnmower and a slightly larger-than-average urban lot. Mine is quite small.

Today, without anyone saying anything, he mowed both of our lawns. I followed behind with shears and a push broom and trimmed the parts that the power mower could not get to, and swept and gathered the trimmings. Job done, and probably swifter than if each of us had both of those tools to manage our own lots and nobody else's.

An interesting microcosm for a superficial task, perhaps.

But, clearly, I am missing something. Otherwise, why would society be building tracts of uninspiring, cookie-cutter homes when there are places like this around? I have no simple conclusions, but, it is food for thought.

As for Gatsby?

Hello, there, wrecking ball!

2011-04-01T15:36:00.000-07:00

The end, or, back to the beginning?

This humble bungalow is tucked away in the south end of the hilltop, where it had sat unoccupied amongst its neighbors since I started taking this route home.

A few months ago, this felt like a place that the wrecking ball had yet to come -- boarded up houses near an old brick school, a tetris piece fragment of a neighborhood from days past. Why do these things speak to me?

It'd be a brave bet to move in here, but, it could be a rewarding one. A fairly flat lot with an expansive view of the bay down the hill -- beautiful, if you, like yours truly, consider a working waterway in an old industrial city beauty. A great deal of morning sun.

You could fall down the hill and wind up downtown, such as it is.

I couldn't resist turning the lens inside the place. Torn down to the studs. Construction types -- this is an indication that someone cares for the place, right? They are restoring it, not just stripping it?

If it was scheduled for demolition, why would one bother to carefully pick out the interior, but leave the studs in good shape?

I feel the same way that people feel about these houses, I think, as some do when they see a cold, lonely puppy. Even if it's a bad idea, you just want to ~~take~~ make them home!

2011-03-25T08:39:00.000-07:00

I pass this coffee stand daily, and, somehow it has always seemed Tacoma-appropriate that they will sell you a Polish dog along with your Latte.
Today I noticed something new:

With deft strategery, they placed this sandwich board sign in view of the transit center across the street.

It does make me wonder: at the Sexy Barista Corporate Training Center, what does the training consist of?

2011-02-20T18:26:00.000-08:00

News Flash: The Largest Economy in the world is broke. Really, really broke.

Additional News: Americans have a lot of Stuff. Junk, even. We have a lot of Stuff that we do not especially want, much less need.

If I told you that you had a guaranteed buyer for every old Sammy Hagar t-shirt and Mister Wizard’s Genuine Flux Capacitor -- 2 of a series of 9, collect them all – in your garage, attic, or basement, what would you say?

You do. It’s Uncle Sam. Ladies and gents, we’ve got to quit this Spacely Regulator addition. They were never any good anyhow; good thing he stuck with sprockets.

Yes indeed, tax refunds are expected soon, for those filers who itemized their tax deductions for 2010.

While many reforms are needed to the tax policy, here is a simple one:

In-kind charitable donations, for items valued at less than $500, should be strictly capped.

I had a look at the President’s budget for 2011 – the deficit numbers we are looking at, realistically, are staggering, moreso because they are persistent. If you believe the White House, while there may not be a projected surplus, deficits will be in the manageable 3% range by 2016.

Yours Truly, in brief, does not believe the White House.

Looking at numbers from a few think tanks, accounting for things like continued AMT relief – which the White House and CBO seem to regard as some kind of choice, when clearly it is not. They do this every year.

Editor’s note: If this were a better blog than it is, I would cite a source here. The numbers I have here are from the Heritage Foundation, which, while they seem to be solid, aren’t exactly the most middle-of-the-road analysts.

In any case, this was my first year itemizing my deductions on my tax return, instead of simply taking the standard deduction.

Donations to charities are encouraged by making these donations tax-deductible, and, while the legitimacy of some charities may concern me, overall I think this is a laudable rule.

However, there’s a glaring loophole that one can drive a truckload of ancient concert t-shirts and mismatched flatware through: the donations of household goods to places like the ARC and Goodwill.

When I moved into the new house, as you might expect, I took a whole mess of things to Goodwill. I hate waste, and try to hang onto things as long as they are useful, but, let’s face it, the tote bag from the conference two years ago, the trade show t-shirt, the VHS tapes, these have got to go.

I used Intuit’s excellent Turbotax software to assist me with my taxes this year – though I’ve outgrown the 1040-EZ, I am not in the realm of complexity where a CPA’s services would make any sense.

To assist me in totting up my deductions to charity, Turbotax has a built in feature that they call “it’s deductible!” Simply fill in what you gave, and it will populate the rest into the appropriate IRS form. Great.

I was amazed at how far this got me – almost scandalized. I wrote off about five hundred bucks of donations, based on the “conservative” side of Turbotax’s guidelines. This is all perfectly legal, kosher, permitted, says the IRS.

While I am not such a white hat as to make an unsolicited donation to the federal budget – as simply ignoring my donation would be – I think this needs to be reined in.

The amount of a donation that can be written down ought to be connected with the value of the donor’s loss of use of the item.

In my case, Goodwill was a good turn – it saved the clothing, the coffee pot, the mixer, from the garbage, and perhaps someone else will put them to good use.

But, six bucks for a t-shirt? Give me a break.

Feeling a little badly about my $500 write-down (about $100 in my pocket, at current marginal tax rates,) I looked on the IRS’s website, and on Turbotax’s, to se how most people behaved.

The average deduction in my income bracket is over $2,000.

While donations of cash can be written off as well as donations of goods, I am curious how this $2,000 breaks down. I’d be willing to suspect that at least three-fourths of it was in-kind.

If middle-class folk truly were donating 5% of their income to charity, I’d wager the nation’s nonprofits would be partying in the streets – partying, you know, charitably, and all.

They are not.

This pretending needs to stop.

There are many complex ways I can think to rein in this silliness, but I’ll propose a simple one: The amount of charitable in-kind donations for miscellaneous used items which can be deducted from one’s income should be capped at a modest amount. I will propose $300.

Cash donations will have no cap, so long as they can be documented and the recipient organization is a legitimate charity, and specific, high-value donations will be permitted at the amount that the charity sells the item for.

This is currently the case for donations of motor vehicles, which were subject to similar nonsense when they were subject to much less scrutiny: Sure, that broken-down Ares K is worth $2,000!

Everybody happy?

Oh, yes, of course, fix entitlements, reform medicare and social security, and solve global hunger – I know, I know there are other things to which we can direct our attention.

But, this is simple and it is fair – it will eliminate a strange distortion in the tax code which, once again, mostly favors higher-income folk with no specific purpose.

2011-02-16T11:44:00.000-08:00

Time is slippery, but potential big changes coming soon. We will see...

2011-01-03T12:10:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year to all.

Among other things, I think most of my irrelevant ramblings ought to coalesce here, once again. For starters, I'm going to cross-post the house-related stuff the Girl and I write on the T-town Bunglow blog we began this weekend.

Other social media is fun, in its way, as we have discussed below, but as a certain anonymous friend recently reminded me, weblogs are far more enduring. It is, perhaps, his loyal readership that has reinspired me.

Another oldie is my Pet Peeve of the Day.

Today's, then, is excessive and irrelevant titles, especially when abbreviated.

I saw it all of the time when I started looking for houses. You'd see real estate agents -- a sales job which requires a couple of correspondence courses' worth of training, in my understanding -- with an alphabet soup of titles.

But, taking the cake is the smallish local church down the road from me. Disclaimer: I do not attend this church. But, on the metal plaque above his reserved parking space, and on the sign on the front of the church, and on their white panel van, is the following:

Bishop Pastor John A Doe, D.D., Founder.

Of course, the parking plaque hasn't got the room, so it reads: "B P J A DOE DD." The founder part gets left off, I suppose.

But, seriously, my friend. I thought this sort of business went out of fashion with monarchs?

I ended up with a one-pence in my change last year - here in America! - of these. If you have to squint, it says GEORGIVS VI D G BR OMN REX F D IND IMP. Yeah, that's George the 6th, by the grace of God King of all Britain, defender of the faith, Emperor of India.

Perhaps, again, it is because I do not attend father Doe's church, but I thought there was meant to be some bit about humility?

2010-10-07T12:39:00.000-07:00

You know, I think that Facebook has become the Wal-Mart of blogging.

Mom and Pop blogs all around the country are feeling the strain. I mean, sure, the most successful local ~~shops~~ blogs will, if anything, get stronger, but the little guys that offered a service with a fairly shallow niche, or generalists who got business just because of the popularity of their ~~location~~ author, will end up closing their doors.

Like the big W*M, or now whatever the heck that sun-glyph is that they use, FB offers easy access to a lot of ~~products~~ content, at a low price, in one place, but it is often hard to navigate and, really, how much of this stuff do you actually need?

The stuff that costs more -- that which, to beat my analogy into the ground, takes longer to read and requires more deliberate access -- gets less attention in the realm of instant-access media.

Who would've thought that the traditional "electronic mail" and "weblog" would become antiquated so darn quickly?

I thought, at least, they would be the cassette tapes of the digital world, and not laserdiscs.

2010-09-15T15:08:00.001-07:00

1-month placeholder.

Insert commentary about microblogging versus real blogging.

2010-08-13T12:49:00.000-07:00

I stand in line at the Seven-Eleven, and the friendly if stereotype-affirming cashier is halfway through ringing up the kid in front of me.

He might be seventeen, he might be twenty; he sports fashionable, shaggy black hair under a billed knit cap worn sideways. His skate shoes tap on the floor as he spins his wallet to a beat before replacing it in his Volcom jeans.

I’ve worked too many grocery jobs, though, not to suspect the way that this shopping expedition ends.

Five large Arizona sweetened “iced tea” cans, a package of bacon, three large freeze-dried spicy noodle soup bowls, a freezer box of popcorn chicken, a frozen pizza, a bottle of chocolate milk, and other nutritional delights go into three of the flimsy little excuses for bags that the Seven-E has.

$32.73 – probably about as much as I spend on food in a week. From those expensive jeans he produces his Quest card for the cashier. Yes, indeed, that’s food stamps, paid for and funded by taxpayers such as yours truly.

I get on my bicycle and head towards home. At the intersection of Division there, I see a woman in her thirties with two elementary-aged girls in tow. They look around, a bit confused, and flag me over. “Excuse me, do you know where there’s a little store round here?”

“Well, there’s a Safeway [supermarket – ed.] about seven blocks that way,” I reply, pointing down K street. “Or, there’s a Seven-Eleven just right there, behind that building.”

The woman looks to the little girls. “Let’s go to Seven-Eleven,” she says. “Oh, hey –“ she asks me, “do ya know if they accept food stamps?”

2010-08-12T11:21:00.000-07:00

The book of faces has an interesting effect on "real" blog articles; of course, so does a combination of gainful employment and extensive bike commuting.

But, to cycle status through a more permanent venue:

Buy these overpriced, washed, sorted, ready to eat potatoes!

Now especially for you! Comes complete with plastic shrink-wrap and disposable polystyrene tray!

This is a great plan for your wallet, your belly, and the environment. What could possibly be wrong with this idea?

2010-08-05T08:43:00.001-07:00

Need to take lots more pictures and describe various bits of progress, here, but at least we are no longer eating from a card table...

2010-08-04T08:00:00.001-07:00

Advocacy spam: If you have not already done it, please go sign the "People for Bikes" pledge below.

http://www.peopleforbikes.org/page/s/pledge

It's quick and free, no "registration," and helps show the world and Political Powers that be that you, too, believe that Bikes Belong.

Whether you ride daily, or just understand that every bike is NOT a car adding to traffic jams, signing up shows you understand bikes are a win-win-win-win.

2010-06-21T08:38:00.000-07:00

The weekend's progress -- some destruction, some construction.

Living room had 3 layers of wallpaper, with paint over it. Wallpaper is all down, and we've started plastering. Plaster is a weird, werid chemical. I am surprised by how sensitive the chemical reaction is: If I use refrigerated, distilled water, and a squeaky-clean mixing trough, it works just fine, setting in about twenty to thirty minutes.

But, if I fail at any one of those components -- if there are little bits of plaster from the last batch left in the trough, or if I use tap water, or lukewarm water, hey presto! The stuff sets in five minutes or less, far too quickly to work with. Who knew?

Kitchen wall -- I wish I had a "before" picture of the area over the stove, but what we have is a chimney, with lath and plaster over that, and over THAT was a bunch of prefab pseudo-mosaic ceramic tiles in a pretty ugly pattern. I'm not sure if this is from the fifties or the seventies, but it had to go.

Even if I could tolerate the stuff aesthetically, which was pretty horrible, the weight of it all, combined with fifty years of greasy cooking by the previous homeowner without a range hood, had made the plaster start to fall back from the lath.

Removed! What a mess, though a fairly satisfying one. I'll keep the lath in place while I decide what to do, but it's probably going to come down along with the bottom half of the wall, which has a sheet of a sort of pseudo-subway tile for wainscotting, if that mess of jargon makes any sense.

Ideally, I'd like to add a range hood, vented right through the chimney, but I'll need to a little more research to find out how feasible this is.

2010-06-16T11:05:00.001-07:00

GLIMPSES OF HUMANITY

If I didn't enjoy being alone with my thoughts, the three-plus hours I spend on a bicycle each day would be an act of madness.

Some mornings, the ride seems faster than others. Today was an other. I frequently find myself noting the scenery, narrating as I roll down the quiet streets of my neighborhood, but sharing such uneventfulness seems bland.

Still, on this drizzly morning in the upper forties, I smirked at the thought of summer's impending arrival in five days' time. It certainly doesn't seem like it. The reader board on Mac's Custom Auto agreed: "Dear Summer. Come back soon. We miss you."

The spray keeps everything gray and damp -- watch out for those streetcar tracks, now, those are slippery -- but it's not enough to soak me through as I roll down the steep, stairstepped hillside of my own street, along Pacific Avenue amidst the day's first city buses.

The usual suspects along Puyallup avenue: the woman with the withered smile and overly made up lips and peroxide-blond hair, walking towards the city. Today she is alone; some days, she's with a man, but it's never the same one. There's the gray-bearded man with the bicycle helmet, but no bicycle. When I ride past him, he motions little circles with his index finger.

An armada of green scrubs filing into the early-early-classes at the for-profit college. Tired of your job? You, too, could be a nurse!

Over the old steel bridge on Puyallup river, the railyard below still quiet -- they've kept obsolete sign on its steel trellis below, directing locomotives to the left to take on coal, to the right for oil. The diesel smell is kept down by the rain.

Out of the city, into the industrial stretch of highway, up the hillside and into the suburbs. The steep descent into the valley, feathering the brakes to keep them heated up on cool, wet rims. "We're building an inclusive community!" declares the posterboard sign tacked to a tree in the canyon. I'm not sure where the community is -- not in the treelined canyon, that's for sure, nor on the freeway on my left.

The overpass of the valley freeway shows the morning gridlock, the cars in the middle a sea of red gnats, immobilized by their own weight. My own sort of freeway, the paved trail made from an old railway line, is clear -- I see not a soul on it this morning, a fast lane reserved only for Yours Truly. By the time the real summer turns up, it will be considerably more crowded.

The handful of company I usually have on the trail, even, is absent. Where is handcycle man, who I see in all kinds of weather, year-round? Where's the guy on the decade-old trek, elbows splayed as he jams along at breakneck speed? How about the cute girl with the rockstar sunglasses, the bullhorn bars on her fixed-gear Bianchi? The couple walking their pair of dogs, so dark, huge, and shaggy they might be confused for bears? They always say good morning, as I pass.

If I drove every day on the highway, would I see the same cars? Would I get to know their faces?

Do you?

2010-06-15T15:33:00.001-07:00

Life on Discount –

Being of fairly modest means hasn’t stopped Yours Truly from living a satisfying life, but we do try to get the most we can, out of the fewest greenbacks.

The best dollar spent, of course, is the one I didn’t spend at all. While not going to the extent that some freegans do , I realized this weekend that all four items in the breakfast I was eating – coffee, a biscuit, a muffin, and a banana – were all scavenged from four different places at no (cash) charge.

The jam on the biscuit, too, I made from berries I collected, canned in a jar I bought at a yard sale, in a canner from an estate sale. I did buy the sugar and pectin!
But, since I do have to buy groceries sometimes, I do what I can. Usually I’m all about the closeout and overstock shops, but this weekend I headed down to the National Grocery Chain down the block for their grand-re-opening-sale.

My cart started at ninety-two some dollars, so I went to work. Unlike overstock and discount stores, National Grocery Chain makes getting the best deal a little bit complicated. There’s shopping what’s on sale, of course, but National has been doing whacky stacky sales lately.

$10 off your purchase of $50 or more. 10% off all groceries for the next 30 days. Bag credit. Free gifts with purchase – in this case some store-brand juice, cereal, and eggs.

Net total: $39.57 – the little receipt tool even does the savings math for you; it told me the net was 42% of the gross.

And, no, I don’t particularly like manufacturer’s coupons. They’re usually for stuff I don’t want to buy anyway, like national-brand processed foods.

2010-06-02T09:18:00.000-07:00

Yours Truly lives in a "diverse" neighborhood that some might say is "rapidly gentrifying." While he and Neighbor One, both recent homeowners, probably represent this phenomenon, Neighbor(s) Two do not.

Neighbors Two are a group of renters that would not fit in at all in Stepford -- at least three adults and what appears to be two generations of children. There's sometimes yelling from their cars to the house, boomic music, what have you.

YT doesn't mind in the least; I'd rather live in a neighborhood with a little "character."

Anyhow, one of Neighbors Two's cars, an 8-year-old Chrysler that is - was - in fairly good shape, was having some fairly simple trouble, and the owner was bent over the hood when I got home, trying to replace a drive belt.

It starts to rain, he gets frustrated but gets it fixed, and goes to test-drive the thing around the block.

When I look out the window again after eating dinner, the Chrysler is back in his (technically my, but with an easement?) parking strip, and it looks like the hood is open again.

No, it's not OPEN. It's folded in half, along with the entire front passenger side of the car. Doesn't look like he popped the radiator, but, if you were paying to get it fixed, that looks like about $5,000 of damage, on a car that's probably worth less than that.

Oops.

2010-05-12T11:24:00.000-07:00

No time to rant, but, while I don't want to talk about normal politics, I want to complain about these banks that want you to "Opt in" and "STAY PROTECTED!"

My ass.

This is a bunch of drek, and you perfectly well know it.

And, Wal-Mart? Taking advantage of bigger write-offs does not a charity make.

2010-05-10T14:23:00.001-07:00

Positive Feedback : Sunbeam Electronics / Oster Housewares –

Over the holidays, I got a giftcard for a big-box housewares store, and used it to purchase something terribly boring-sounding like a blander. I mean, blender. Hey, I needed one!

As much as, as a child, I got a kick out of contemplating the difference between “Chop,” “Blend,” “Puree,” “Raplougiffy,” and umpteen other settings, I picked one with a higher price, and fewer settings. KISS, right?
So, this Oster was kinda spendy, as far as blenders go. It has a glass pitcher, which I thought essential, and a solid metal base with a simple “high / low” dipswitch to turn the thing on. What could go wrong, right?

Well, there is a little black plastic collar at the base which holds the blades in the pitcher, and sits between the pitcher and base. Somehow, back in February, I either overtightned or was too rough with this little plastic sleeve. The thing cracked in half. Salsa disaster!

Things like this are one of those grey areas with “Warranties.” The product failed, that’s for sure. Warranties guarantee against defects in materials and workmanship, right?

Well, we’re sure the part failed. But was it defective? Yes, I broke it. But, there are umpteen plastics to choose from. A product of this price range relative to its competitors, with a thick glass pitcher and durable stainless steel base, ought to be made out of a more shock-resistant composite, right?
Defective materials, or user error?

These grey zones,and the way a company handles them -- not just the text of a warranty but the practical way that it is handled -- have a huge impact in the perception of a company, as well as the odds of earning repeat business.

Well, I called Oster, owned by Sunbeam, it seems, and navigated through a frustrating series of menus before I had to simply hit pound repeatedly to talk to a real live person.

A few quick questions later, I told the Customer Service fellow the model number and described the broken part. No inquiries about how it broke, no request for postage, no need to return the entire item to the big-box store I got the thing from.

Four days later, I had a replacement collar at my house.

Thanks a lot, Sunbeam.

(now let’s hope I don’t go and break it, again)

2010-04-27T16:02:00.001-07:00

Oh Portland, why ever did I leave you?

http://outside.away.com/outside/destinations/201005/bike-snob-nyc-portland-oregon-2.html

2010-04-22T13:44:00.000-07:00

So, how is it that ants inevitably find the food that you leave out? How do they get there so fast?

In honor of Earth Day, I sent a bunch of stuff to the landfill today, but the Earth Day fairies must have cried out for mercy.

It’s not my fault, okay? Along with the house I am the proud new owner of, I also inherited the debris of a fair portion of the previous owner’s life. Much of this was garbage, of the large household variety.

There were a couple of MASSIVE old desks, but made of crappy, unusable old particle board, rolls of old carpet and vinyl floor coverings, 6 old and broken brooms, a huge old vacuum cleaner that was made of metal and probably weighed 60 pounds, countless bits of electronic and radio equipment, a broken down lawnmower, a bunch of assorted chemicals for film developing, paint, a broken massive old mirror, what have you.

The kitchen sink is staying, though.

Anyway, I found out, to my relief, that Tacoma Solid Waste has a program called Call to Haul, where you can set up a pickup at your house, and they’ll come collect, within reason, what you leave for them. No additional charge, even, with your typical city utility account! I guess they figure it beats illegal dumping.

Well, last night at about ten thirty, I set out everything for collection, neatly stacked by the curb, amazed myself with how cleaned up the basement looked up, washed up, and went to bed.

This morning, I left for work at half past five, and noticed the pile looked a little different. The Solid Waste guys hadn’t been there yet – they weren’t coming until seven – but the vacuum cleaner and lawnmower were gone, and the boxes were sorted through, with most of the electrical equipment taken.

We’re not talking USEFUL stuff here, this is like, old cabling, random little antennae and connectors, and a couple of little boxes of circuits and doodads that are probably from forty years ago.

But, I guess it all contains metal, and the Clandestine Recycling Team scored a bunch of it.

I still want to know : Where the HECK did they come from? When? They had maybe a six hour window to figure out that I was doing this, and collect the stuff.

Also: The drawers they pulled out to examine the contents were stacked neatly to one side of the desk. The boxes were in different positions, but not overturned. Um, thanks for not making a mess?

(Yes, I recognize that the common factor for the things taken is their metal content. Also, hey, I don’t have any particular problem with this operation, as long as the debris from this stuff isn’t hurled into the woods – if someone can make use of what I couldn’t, by all means! Without a large political rant, I believe in many property rights, but not one’s absolute right to destroy one’s own possessions, for no particular purpose.)

2010-04-20T14:55:00.001-07:00

I feel like I'm missing out on so much being "Out of the bike racer scene!"

Dang.

I remember those roads...

2010-04-03T21:19:00.000-07:00

The grey-haired woman sits at the café smiling, appearing eerily at peace. She has sat down and spread herself out over two comfy chairs with the little end table sideways between them, sitting there in her light grey sweats; we’re talking Eighties-style sweats, here, not some modern velour tracksuit with something written in large block letters across the backside.

Spreading a well-worn newspaper on the table in front of her, on her lap, on the next table, she sips her coffee with the lid removed, placing cheap drugstore reading glasses over her eyes, squinting a bit as she reads a page or two of the paper, rustling a bit, then setting it down, heading for cream.

When she returns she stops at a random man’s table – that of your humble narrator, if, dear reader, that is of interest to you – and looks to the heavens. No, she looks at the ceiling, at the speakers there. “Do you hear that?” she asks without provocation.

“What’s that,” asks the man, looking up from his book, not perturbed but certainly confused.

“It’s an organ,” she says, her voice low, almost conspiratorial. Then, she smiles again, returns to her seat, and listens to the Starbuck’s piped – in tunes as the leans her graying hair back into the brown overcoat she has folded onto her chair. The music does, indeed, come from an organ; at least, a digital reproduction thereof.

The woman sips the coffee again, genuinely looks into the paper as though she has not read this before. The man tries not to meet her eyes, for fear she will find something else strange to say or feel he is interested.

She’s reading every page of that little free “entertainment” insert into the newspaper that’s got movie and tv listings and such, maybe a recipe idea, sandwiched into a whole stack of ads, and is carefully studying it, with that same, strange smile, as though at some point it will become something interesting.

(It won’t)

She has finished her coffee or tea or latte or whatever it is that she is drinking – doubtful that it is a latte because (really much like your humble narrator) she is purchasing less the fabulous beverages that Starbucks have to offer, but rather renting her place in that (those, I suppose) comfortable chair(s), so why bother to rent the chair for four dollars when you can do it for two – she’s finished it, and pulls from her canvas grocery sack some yarn and knitting needles and begins to work.

This is not the quick flicking-clicking of a practiced knitter working to complete a project; it is the lethargic, methodical jerks of someone who is doing this to pass the time, the minutes and hours of the day as she has perhaps done to pass the moments of so many years, losing any discontent with the world in the simple, methodical work. Idle hands, devils, and all of that.

It is the arm of a sweater, a dusky lavender, which as something of a saving grace it is actually quite good work. She puts it down, though, after a few minutes and approaches the counter. The girl asks what she can get started for the woman, the standard Starbucks counter greeting, but as anyone with a practiced eye can tell the older woman is not approaching the counter to PURCHASE anything. No.

The woman speaks softly, conspiratorially to the girl behind the counter, who as a girl behind a counter wearing an apron has no choice but to listen and smile.

An observer cannot hear what the woman says, but can hear the girl respond, “Oh, no…” without any real concern. “Oh… well,” says the girl. “Well. Thank you for telling me.” You can tell she doesn’t give any half of a shit.

The woman goes back, satisfied or not, to her knitting, knitting, slowly, slowly.

2010-03-29T07:42:00.000-07:00

I have kind of an interesting idea. Let's see if I can get some execution on it. Will advise, over.

---

In other news, what's up with the EVERYONE offering "online, high-yield savings?" I mean, ING started this mess, maybe, and now that we're all banking-deregulated, everyone figures they can shore up their bottom line with cheap borrowing by offering 1% interest on deposits? I don't just mean real banks, I'm talking, American Express, Sallie Mae, GE's little "not FDIC insured senior debt account," you name it.

Well, I guess you can't fault 'em.

It's nearly free fundraising.

2010-03-10T15:48:00.000-08:00

Bicycling directions on Google Maps!

Great stuff! It picks routes that makes sense for "entry-level" cyclists, so it is a little less useful for Yours Truly, who would prefer the most direct routes, but, it is a great start.

Before, you just had to "know" that the MUT's were there.

2010-02-22T09:29:00.000-08:00

Everyone who's ever even THOUGHT about riding a bike in the PacNW was out this beautiful weekend.

Yours truly was no exception.

I remember the days of five-hour rides, every weekend -- those are long past, now that there's eighteen-plus hours of bike commuting during the week! So, instead, we get to tear around the short, steep hills of Tacoma, the cobbles and the bricks.

2010-02-11T14:57:00.000-08:00

I was without my iphone for about 36 hours.

Nothing calamitous happened, either.

See, I told you I am not an addict.

Also, I went on what's probably my, what, fourth mountain bike ride in five years of cycling? It is both more "fun," and far more of a production, than road riding.

2010-02-03T10:24:00.000-08:00

We the undersigned, do avow and promise that, on the day of the 14th of February, we will not purchase overpriced flowers, we will not purchase frivolous trinkets and baubles, we will not battle for reservations at restaurants we may not otherwise visits amid the teeming masses.

While we reserve the right to appreciate our loved ones and relationships in whatever private and appropriate manner we see fit, we will under no circumstances purchase a premade greeting card to commemorate that occasion.

Likewise, if we are not currently romantically intertwined, we agree that the 14th of February will pass just as the 13th did and the 15th will, with no particular sadness derived from whatever pink flowers and imagined affection we may chance to see on commercials, billboards, or other advertising media.

2010-02-01T07:49:00.001-08:00

Think Fast!

Just because people tend to have weird reactions in the US to fasting, especially for slender people, I thought I'd mention that I'm doing a 36-hour one, starting last night.

Well, I will be having a few pieces of fruit throughout the day, and a glass of juice before my ride home, so I don't bonk.

So there.

2010-01-28T10:38:00.000-08:00

Jerome David Salinger: Rest in Peace.

That was a long, reclusive, bitter life.

You’ll be missed.

Check that.

You won’t.

But, that was the whole idea, wasn't it?

You will not be missed, because your works will outlive you -- they have done so for fifty years already.

2010-01-22T10:03:00.000-08:00

As I've mentioned to many of you separately, I've been poking my nose around this place lately. Needs a little love, but it's all there...

Built in 1895, modest-sized place that suits my needs aesthetically / emotionally.

Here's the pro and con that I can see:

CON :
* House is not entirely free of knob-and-tube wiring. Most has been replaced with romex, but some k-t still exists in the attic. It all looks in good shape, with no splices or additions, at least.

* Foundation: Half of the structure has a full-height basement, the other half, a crawlspace. The original basement was brick, but this has been replaced with poured concrete that looks good. The other half is still the original pier-and-beam, though it looks in good shape.

* living, dining, main floor bath, mudroom all contain original double-hung, single-glazed windows that will need reglazing and new sash cords if they are to open and close correctly.

* No insulation under main floor floorboards -- combined with windows, will make keeping living room warm in the winter inefficient, if I wanted to.

* No proper garage (There's a "1 car attached garage" that is basically the basement.)

* Lot size is small (future sale price?)

* Water heater is gas, but not very new

* Front porch is not original and probably needs redoing soon, certainly aesthetically. Seems a pretty small job.

PRO :

* Location is perfect -- desirable part of town, near houses of a similar vintage that are well-kept, walk to cafes, restaurants, shops. If any part of my town is up and coming, this is it.

* Lot size is small (No yard, no worries!)

* All the aesthetic "charm" I want.

* Roof is reasonably recent and in good shape asphalt shingle. Gutters were redone, probably at the same time, and look sound from what we can tell.

* Gas furnace new, professional install in 07

* Upper floor has a recent refresher, includes energy-efficient windows of some kind, lots of insulation. Attic finished into living space well-insulated, with its own wall-mounted electric heat.

* Kitchen has a full modern remodel in 07. Not completely to my taste, but "Nice on a budget" stuff here -- Silestone countertops and ceramic tile, nice large LG appliances: fridge, "stealth" dishwasher, micro/convection, and electric range / oven. Most of the other houses I looked at in my price range had a resto that looked at least 25 years old.

* Washer / Dryer aren't particularly exciting, but they are included.

Sure sure, the house needs some "finish work" -- the old baseboard moldings are there, but the little quarter-sawn shoe molding thing, if that's the right term, is missing, etc, etc. But it's all there, and it all works.

Opine, please.

2010-01-11T08:08:00.000-08:00

Rainy dark morning, 6:30 AM, heading east on a two-lane city street. About to turn north onto the MUT, I have to stop to allow westbound traffic to clear.

Headcheck behind me shows a car a ways back heading east as well. Westbound traffic doesn't stop for me headlight and hand signal or no.

Spidey sense tingles. Other eastbound car has not even slowed.

Nowhere to go -- I hear screeching tires and have just an instant.

Forget the turn, I point both wheels straight forward, east, hands off the brakes, and stay seated just as I feel the impact of his bumper on my tire.

My rear wheel is off the ground, my front may have lifted off for a moment, and then I'm rolling forward on both wheels. A few wobbles, I make my way to the curb.

Of course, the driver speeds off.

--

I've got a couple of bruises on my thighs and "sit bones" from the saddle, and my wrists hurt, but that's about it.

Heck, my rear wheel didn't even go out of true. Thanks, Campy.

The car that hit me was a Civic. I thank the stars that it wasn't a pickup...

2009-12-15T10:36:00.001-08:00

I'm trying to decide whether I have anything worthwhile to write besides Cycling Product XYZ reviews, and, Commuting is Kind of Crazy Sometimes.

Right now, though, I haven't go it, so, here's what I found as I rolled through frosty Tacoma last week. I know this ain't much for hardened New Englanders, but, dang! We ain't used to this.

2009-11-20T12:12:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, it really is that simple:

Take this call. "Bike Company, may I help?"

Caller: "Yes, hello, I bought one of your accessories, it has a mounting bracket that I'm having a hard time attaching."

Yours Truly: "Okay, what seems to be the problem?"

Caller: "Well, there is a special kind of screw in there, I can't figure out how to get it out... no screwdriver I have works."

Yours Truly: "Sir, that is an Allen bolt."

Caller: "Oh, so I need an Allen wrench for it?"

Yours Truly: "Correct, yes."

Caller: "Okay, great, you've been very helpful."

If I were feeling a little hipper, this would be high time for a facepalm.

2009-11-18T11:18:00.000-08:00

...aaand we've got it.

Success, etc!

More later.

2009-11-17T12:16:00.000-08:00

Snapped off frozen bolt extraction attempts o-rama!

Yeah, this is irritating.

2009-11-11T14:32:00.000-08:00

Preamble: Costco is a company that I overall have a great deal of respect for. Their cost-cutting, volume-based business model is simple to understand, saves me and other customers money, and their equitable treatment of employees makes the shopping experience physically and ethically more pleasant.

So, please take this criticism in the spirit it is offered.

I just got a book of coupons for Costco. Actually, I got two of them, since my landlord has not changed her address with the company.

Coupons.

For Costco.

What gives? What sense does this make? These are not manufacturer's coupons being passed down to club members, they are internal, store coupons.

If you're not with me yet, let me explain: Costco is a warehouse club. This means you have to pay a modest annual fee to shop there, and then you're on the list. Once a member, you get the same low pricing (most of Coscto's products sell at about 10-12% gross profit margins) as all other members. SKU count, the total number of items, is low on the floor, as are costs.

I won't get into excessive detail about these cost cutting measures, but, the point is that on any given item, Costco makes a little money, but not very much. It is a great place to buy name brand items for reliably cheap.

This differs from premium grocery stores, like Safeway, in my area, which have single-unit items at considerably higher retail prices, but many items are frequently on sale. In a given product category, I'd wager there's at least SOMETHING on sale, every week, at Safeway. Furthermore, they sometimes offer "loss leader" sales, a doorbuster product sold for an unsustainably low price, designed to entice shoppers into the store. The idea is that you'll buy enough full-margin items to make up for it.

In your market, you probably get the traditional Tuesday grocery flier, with specials from all of the local shops, all vying for your business with specials like this. They send this flyer to literally every house in your neighborhood, attempting to lure your business.

Coscto doesn't spend the money on either the mass media advertising or the loss-leaders, as it would be antithetical to its EDLP (Every Day Low Price) business model.

The coupons they are sending me arrive at my place because I AM ALREADY A MEMBER. Their coupon distribution is one coupon book, one member.

Do you see what I am getting at?

If everyone eligible to shop at the store, and only those people, are offered the same price, what is the point of the coupon?

It's just an advertisement.

I used one, anyway, last week. Sure, I can complain, but I'm a cheap date. The cashiers scan the coupons, but they do not require their surrender.

This further demonstrates my point.

So, knock it off. Just lower the price to whatever it is that the coupon indicates, and, if you must, send members a flyer indicating what the price is.

Agreed?

2009-11-04T15:49:00.001-08:00

REV: Sigma Karma Pro Headlight

I’ve been riding the Karma for far too long not to have written it up. Apologies, Sigma.

The short version: Nice work indeed. This style of light is the way of the future for commuting, and I enthusiastically endorse it.

Longer Review: Sigma has been known in the US market for their durable bike computers with manuals containing quirky German-to-English translation. They’ve also had a wide range of lights, but it seems like recently a new designer stepped up to the plate. The Karma was my first experience.

Images of the light alone don’t do its size, or lack thereof, justice. Both the emitter and battery are TINY. Together, they weigh only (have to dig out my gram scale.)

The lithium-ion battery pack combined with the efficiency of a regulated LED is great. The light lasts about 4 hours on high, as claimed and tested by yours truly. At the end of my four-hour, round trip, commute, burning on high, the Karma JUST began to run out of batteries. On “economy” mode, Sigma claims sixteen hours, but I was not about to test that! The new model features a flashing mode as well, but my demo was not so equipped.

An excellent balance between weight, brightness, and battery life, the Karma is designed as a commuter light.

Just how bright is 75 Lux? Rating lighting systems against one another is challenging. Sigma use “LUX” to rate their lights, Light and Motion counts Lumens, and Cateye shows rankings in Candlepower. Without getting into physics, I will say that the Karma is quite bright, but not “portable sun” bright.

The beam is quite narrow; it will illuminate your lane, but will not light up the lane beside you. The Karma feels designed as a helmet-mounted light, which works for me, as it allows you to announce your presence to automobile cross-traffic.

For backroads in complete darkness, I found myself wanting a little more light. Sigma offers a high-quality, waterproof splitter cable that lets you run a pair of lights off a single battery. Now, I'm guessing it was intended for handlebars, but, I ended up with frog eyes!

With both lights on high, flying down Peasley Canyon way at thirty-five miles an hour, I’m not outrunning my lights, and reflective surfaces on both sides of the road flare up at me. The single battery still lasts more than my whole commute, and if I needed to recharge at the office, the included rapid-smart-charger brings a dead battery to full charge in about two hours.

This is a far cry from the overnight-recharges and ninety-minute run time of NiCd Halogen lights of the past!

Fit and finish are great, and includes lots of little tricks: it includes both a helmet mount and a fairly tricky handlebar mount that ratchets on with a single pinch. The emitter shell is a machined aluminum cylinder, and the power button is fully sealed – it’s about as watertight as a sport wristwatch. That’s essential for commuting in the Pacific Northwest.

Also included is a multi-directional quick release battery mount that affixes to your handlebar, stem, top tube, or helmet. The battery is light enough that it’s not uncomfortable on the back of my helmet, or you can use the included extension cable and drop the battery in a jersey pocket.

Sigma is also standardizing their batteries across their range, and the L-ION packs
can be used with a number of other lights. It’s nice not have to play the “which battery goes with which light?” game, or carry multiple chargers with you to races or events.

Disadvantages? The on-off switch is a little quirky. To activate the light, you double-click the switch. Single clicks cycle through the high-low-economy-flashing modes, but will not return the light to “off”; this requires a press and hold for two seconds. I’d rather have the option of a squeeze bulb on the extension cord to activate the light. With two on my helmet, I find myself fumbling with soaked gloves or cold fingers to adjust both lights.

Of course, most rides will be shorter than the total battery life for most riders, so you’d just pick your desired brightness at the start and turn it off at the end.
I like the quick-release handlebar mount, but today’s bikes are coming with an increasingly strange array of handlebar sizes, so I’d like to see a “mountless” O-ring option for the light on bars – this works quite well with lightweight emitters like the Karma, and Sigma use a similar setup for their tail lights.

Summary : With light weight, long battery life, and water tightness, the Karma is an excellent choice for commuters who want to step up from Alkaline-powered lights. Alone or in tandem, it could make a good night-riding light, but more firepower might be necessary for 24-hour mountain bike racing.

Addendum No, I'm not going to take the light out in the dark and attempt to take a picture to show how much illumination it produces. That shows more about the camera than it does about the light...

2009-11-04T14:05:00.000-08:00

While I come up with a few more important posts, theoretically, allow me to share my coworker A's perspective about snakes.

Staff of Aesclepius aside, people have these weird hangups about them. C'mon, guys, they're just lizards, but, with no legs.

Here's what she had to say about, quote, big death snakes.

"I would probably try to run away from one of those, but then it would get its fangs into me and pull me into its spiral death grip until I had no more breath in me."

2009-11-04T08:26:00.001-08:00

Yes, I know it has.

Wow.

2009-10-05T10:04:00.001-07:00

Let me return from my travels with this important question:

You approach a door with this sort of handle.

To enter the door, do you pull the handle up, towards the ceiling, or push it down, towards the floor?

Consistently?

Which hand do you open doors with?

That's it. No trick question.

2009-09-16T11:15:00.000-07:00

I should probably get over my puns. Okay, I can't resist. My ride in the morning was kinda screwy:

Actually, I think that is a lag bolt. Anchor bolt? Something. But something that cut the casing of my tire down in a hurry.

Thankfully, I always carry a pretty sizable boot, made from a section of old tire, and it did the trick to get me to work.

Just to prove these Tacoma streets ain't messin' around, it also finished off my front fender, and I noticed a bolt for the rear one had rattled out. I am certainly looking forward to getting full metal fenders on the 2010 Clubman.

2009-09-10T09:42:00.000-07:00

This Just in: Roman Emperors Smoked Popular American Cigarettes

Okay, Yours Truly has never been down with the cancer, or else I likely would've noticed this before, but, what the heck?

At a grocery store, I saw a couple of posters for cigarettes. Avoiding all the politics involved with this discussion, I noticed a little crest on the oversized package of Marlboros on the poster. Around some little heraldic insignia, it read, "Vini, Vidi, Vici." As in, Julius Caesar -- or at least attributed to him.

Today, Rome, tomorrow, the world!

Next to it was a poster for Pall Malls. Curious, then, I looked at it and found they had gone a little bit ahead in Roman history. Here we had, "In Hoc Signo Vinces," which, of course, is Constantine. Okay, fine, a common Latin rendering of a Greek phrase that theoretically began Rome's conversion to christianity, but, whatever. You get the idea.

What the heck has this got to do with cigarettes?

Alea Iacta Est!

2009-09-08T12:04:00.001-07:00

My random combing of the internet has found this blog: http://waiterrant.net/ . I don't know much more about it -- it was a random rant about decaf coffee that lead me here -- but it's really good writing so far.

He is far more eloquent, to say nothing of a lot wordier, than Yours Truly of late. So, while you are reading that, you can look at a few more pictures here:

Check out Sapphire Pond. It kind of reminds me of Little Crater Lake in Oregon: improbable depths in a small space, beautiful clear blue water. The difference, of course, is that while Little Crater is icy cold -- so cold that bacteria canot live -- Sapphire is super blue because it it's some kind of superheated geothermal suchandsuch. It's REALLY hot. I'm talking, 150 degrees.

Here is probably the ubiquitous Yellowstone picture: Bison in the road.

There are lots of Bison at Yellowstone. They are often in the Road.

It's a national park, so hour-long bison jams are are just kind of par for the course.

Here's M checking out the Grand Tetons. They really do look like a postcard.

2009-09-03T08:10:00.001-07:00

For my next trick, I will perform "quantitative easing" of my bank balance.

2009-09-02T15:19:00.001-07:00

2009-08-31T07:56:00.000-07:00

Back from my mini-roadtrip: Yellowstone, Grand Tetons, and everything around 'em. Five states, Seven days, Three Thousand Miles.

Details to follow.

Catchup time!

2009-08-19T08:25:00.000-07:00

"Unchecked carbon emissions will likely cause icebergs to melt. Unchecked greenback emissions will certainly cause the purchasing power of currency to melt. The dollar's destiny lies with Congress." -- Warren Buffett in the New York Times, Wed 19 Aug 09

2009-08-18T12:10:00.000-07:00

Product Test -- On The Go Hazlenut Cappuccino Coffee House Beverage by Kraft Foods.

I couldn't resist this gem.

Could you?

I like coffee. I am going camping next week. A helpful coworker provided me a sample of this fantastic product. What's not to like?

Pour hot water in, and it foams and froths like a latte! Caffeine, plus some lovely artificial hazelnut flavor, and a lotta artificial sweetner.

Really, I think there's got to be something wrong with me that I gave this masochistic creation a try. I gather it's mostly like the diet version of the stuff they serve at the 7-11's "cappuccino machine," with some kind of chemical aeration to boot.

All I know is it tasted like the dried, charred remnants of a Diet Coke can that had been in the sun too long, mixed with baking soda, and poured in hot vinegar.

Oh, but with hazelnut added.

In other news, I just read this article in my local newspaper's online edition, for some reason -- I have to kill time somehow when I'm on hold at work. It's talking about back to school suggestions for youngsters, and it has this to say:

"While a kindergarten child might not know the alphabet, it’s important to foster letter recognition and number sense. When you drive past a store, point to the first letter and say its name out loud..."

Waitasecond.

Kindergarteners not knowing their ABC's?

Okay, MAYBE everyone can't already read by K-G, but, wow.

In other news, this post is quickly losing steam. I'm going to depart from it and go back to a letter about the sea change that's come to the credit card industry.

2009-08-14T12:18:00.001-07:00

Urgent:

Okay, not really.

But WHAT do you call this character: |

You know, just above ENTER, on US keyboards, anyway. SHIFT + BACKSLASH.

What is the name of that symbol? I use it in my day to day life, actually -- it performs a function in a work program, but I never know how to refer to it.

I once heard it called a "Pipe." I think. No, not that kind of pipe.

EDIT : I'm hearing that "Pipe" is acceptable, as is "Bar" or "vertical bar."

Thoughts?

2009-08-13T09:19:00.000-07:00

Hello again, Old Friend: the rain returned for a couple of days to the Sound.

Drinking coffee at night once more, watching the drops scatter across the patio, not wondering from whence the sands of Arrakis had descended upon us, and what have you.

As generic about talking about the weather is, it was nice; especially since it brought about days like today. It will reach the high sixties, with some clouds, and maybe a few sprinkles. This is my absolute favorite type of weather.

Also generic is talking about food, but here is a dinner last night, which was awesome, even if there are some breaks from tradition here. This is pozole verde con mole, in a vegetarian version, arroz rojo, and, so what if the corn bread isn't a tostada? It's pretty good. Of course, it doesn't hold up enough to use it like a spoon, but, I prefer less liquid in the pozole anyway -- as you can see below.

We haven't cooked this as many times as I'm letting on, so I'm stil learning, here. Next time we may make it a couple of days' effort and make the hominy ourselves, "they" say it tastes better that way.

Also, I'm going to reveal my award of the day for a couple of modern technologies that I actually DO like, since yours truly seems to have gotten a needlessly retro-grouchy reputation.

Sure, I hate suburbia and the disposable world and stuff, but sometimes they get it right. I'll have to go and take my own pic, I guess, because Googling "Ziploc Twist Loc," even with all of their whacky copyrighted spelling, doesn't come up with a picture of how cool these little suckers are.

Trust me, they're one of the great inventions of my day. They're little plastic tubs into which you put, um, whatever you want, and close a screw-top lid. It's just like a jar, right, what's the big deal?

Look, my ride to work is two hours long. If I want to carry something here, what do I use? Plastic wrap or a baggie won't do even for fairly solid things, let alone rice, pasta, or anything squishy.

These little containers are a daily lifesaver for me; without them I'd have to resort to empty cottage cheese tubs, and I HATE cottage cheese. No, little bits of pineapple do NOT help.

SECOND, I want to give honorable mention to threaded tops on milk and juice cartons. This single invention lets things stay fresh in the refrigerator nearly twice as long after opening, and means you don't get little dribbles of orange juice all over the place when you're a slob and drink from the carton like I do.

This works even better than the flip-top that is on oh-so-euro quart-sized asceptic boxes.

No, I'm not going to cut it out. No, I don't pound back the cow stuff this way -- the idea of drinking a glass of milk is a pretty revolting concept here. Yes, even with cookies. YES, even if they are chocolate chip. Cold breakfast cereal is about the only place outside of cooking that stuff is good for.

2009-08-12T15:47:00.000-07:00

And you know I only embed when it's worthwhile, not some kind of lazy excuse for a post.

Thanks, Bikeportland.

2009-08-10T13:53:00.000-07:00

Way to Diet:

I generally believe that most "diet" concepts are pretty silly. Overall, I've thought that a Blackberry Pie diet would work just as well as a Superfad Diet #942, or, I Only Eat Foods With Seven Letters in Their Name.

But, last night I was proven wrong.

We made some hummus -- roasted red pepper and garlic -- and some fresh pita. This went along with a salad of spinach, lettuce, and kale. It was supposed to be a fairly simple dinner.

So.

Full.

You don't even understand. I know hummus is high calorie-density, but have you ever tried eating a thousand calories of hummus and pita?

I think I am still full.

I could barely make myself hungry enough for aforementioned blackberry pie. I managed it.

Yeah, it's a hard life.

2009-08-05T10:22:00.000-07:00

Noxious and Condemned -- Saturday 1 August

I grew up in a cul-de-sac in unincorporated suburbia, at nearly the bottom of a little hill. All three houses at the bottom of this street had roughly half-acre lots, but the backyards were down a full storey from ground level, with rocky slopes formed from an old riverbed. All were overrun with a jungle of growth: fir trees, hawthorne, and birch but also English Ivy and, of course, Himalayan Blackberries.

Sure, it's a Noxious Weed, but blackberries have always been one of my favorite fruits, and apparently they're a pretty good thing to eat.

Late summertime was always one of my favorite seasons, and a tradition of August is blackberry picking. The ones in the stores are awfully expensive and usually quite underripe, since ripe berries don't travel well, but if you can find a source set back from the exhaust and dirt of the road, they're free for the taking around here.

This is the spot I found, on my commute into work. This is a scrap of land owned by the Washington State Department of Transportation, and several houses in this area have all been condemned and boarded up -- I think with the plan was to be able to build a highway interchange here, which may or may not happen in the next twenty-five years or the like.

But, for now, the houses stand, boarded up, empty. In their place, I guess, a few miles down the road -- in the flood plain of the Puyallup River, is a bunch of shiny new, identical subdevelopments. I guess people could move there.

But these were perfectly good houses, built to live in, not make a buck. It's really eerie to be here. I feel like I'm in The Road.

I pull off of the road onto the long gravel drive, and roll up alongside the house. It's just like I'm coming home, as I look briefly at the yard, the pear tree and the Noble Fir, the remains of the tree fort. Anyone know what kind of tree that is? Yours Truly is no arborist.

But, of course, no one lives here. The blackberries and morning glory have taken over the yard, spilling over the fence, the garden trellis, the walls of the shed.

Picking berries at the garden, looking at the still green pears, out across the field to the still-active farm a bit down the road, it’s easy to imagine going into the mudroom, washing off the fruit, making a pie – but no one will live here again except the wasps that have burrowed their way into the walls.

Of course, some squatter had already pried off the plywood covering the rear door, made a little pallet out of a scrap of carpet and a space blanket. There’s a 3-year old receipt and an empty CD case in an overturned bureau drawer.

This house is otherwise pretty nice. It has hardwood floors, a two-tier starcase to a little top floor furnished attic, with an old-style slope-sided ceiling that'd never fly in today's clone-a-home.

Wow, that's a lot of hyphens.

The thing of it is, I would've love to live in a house like this. It's attractive, solidly built, ergonomically sound. People would call it "cute," with a lot of "charm," though the nearby freeway would give it "character." One would certainly always hear the noise from it, but so what?

This whole ex-neighborhood is full of empty lots, boarded up houses, and a big, blank field which has a sign suggesting that commercial lot space is available. It's been there, unchanged and unbuilt, for the three years I've lived in the area.

But this is progress, right?

You've got to build bypasses.

It's not the end of the world. Just don't go back for your bag.

The important part about houses isn't that they are livable, "charming," or aesthetically pleasing. The important part is their square footage, the two-car garage, the central air.

Right?

2009-07-29T11:23:00.000-07:00

RALEIGH RECORD ACE -- A quick peek.

Look who's coming to dinner: The new 2010 Raleigh Record Ace. The skinny: Race geometry. Lugged steel. Shimano 6700. Brooks Swallow. Under $2,000.

Yours Truly has not gotten a chance to ride this yet, but he will, just as soon as this weather settles down -- after all, here's what the National Weather Service has to say about today:

---

"RECORD HIGH TEMPERATURES WILL BE WIDESPREAD... AND SEATAC AIRPORT WILL LIKELY TIE OR BREAK ITS ALL TIME RECORD HIGH TEMPERATURE OF 100 DEGREES...AN EXCESSIVE HEAT WARNING MEANS THAT A PROLONGED PERIOD OF DANGEROUSLY HOT TEMPERATURES WILL OCCUR.

A DANGEROUS SITUATION IN WHICH HEAT ILLNESSES ARE LIKELY. DRINK PLENTY OF FLUIDS... STAY IN AN AIR-CONDITIONED ROOM... STAY OUT OF THE SUN..." (emphasis mine)

---

Seriously?

I mean, sure, it is hot, but give me a break. It's hot everywhere, and just because it's twenty degrees over our average high temperature around here doesn't mean we are suddenly going to melt and die. Humidity at peak temperature is going to be in the 30% range.

Yes, I will have TWO water bottles on me for my bike ride home, and, sure, one will be all ice to start with. But this isn't going to stop me from four hours of bike commuting per day. If you don't lock your dog in the car, you'll be fine.

For everyone who is using the warmth to stay off of their bike: if you also use rain as an excuse for the same, you are not going to be riding very often in the Pacific Northwest.

I will say that the air quality is pretty crappy. Normally, the wind and rain keep us with beautifully clear air, even if the skies are grey. I could take a dose of THAT, right now.

I'm just glad that I don't sunburn after that initial toasting! I suppose I AM going to get skin cancer and die, but, that's life. Better than dying of obesity-related blood pressure, cholesterol, diabetes, and wow this is getting more depressing than I intended.

It's going to be a great ride home, is my point.

2009-07-28T15:33:00.000-07:00

Pet Peeve of the day -- Cash for Clunkers Program!

Has anyone read about this thing?

On the surface, it SOUNDS like a good idea -- get people out of their gas-guzzling, low-emissions cars, and into showrooms to buy a shiny new car, with its lower emissions and lower pollution, right? And this isn't chump change we're talking about, it's either $3,500 or $4,500. It'll be like Wheel of Fortune; come on, big money!

But, read the fine print -- your vehicle has to be newer than 25 years old, you've got to have owned and insured it for at least a year, and, here's the big one, the EPA has got to say that your old vehicle has to get NO BETTER THAN 18 MPG COMBINED.

Seriously, that is a pathetic standard. Since the embargo of '74 days, passenger cars were required to get their act together, shrunk dramatically, and began to resemble the moddern auto. After a lot of whining and lobbying, the government continued to subsidize "utility vehicles," including both pickup trucks and the then-nascent SUV market. Because of this, costs remained low, and SUVs were allowed to have powerful, smog-churning engines to their hearts' content (though SOME regulation was added in later.)

This, more than consumer demand, fueled the boom in the tanks that dominate the modern road. What was once a working stiff's rig -- have you ever seen an old truck, with bare metal interiors and a single bench seat? -- became the leather-interior, quad-cab, twenty-inch-chrome wheeled beasts that continue choke the roads. Wow, this got a little more vehement than I expected.

Um, anyhow, if you feel like it, take a look here and see what passenger car mileage was like for the past 25 years. If you want to hunt down one with that bad of mileage, you can, but you'd have to delve deep into the archives to find this.

That's about it for the few remaining land-yachts which qualify for the program. Because of this, and the requirements that you have to improve your gas mileage by FOUR MPG, this is not the "Cash for Clunkers" program at all. Instead, they should call it the "upgrade your truck" program. We'll be swapping out a whole bunch of battered (but drivable, says the program) 80's and 90's pickups for shiny, ridiculous modern trucks so that everyone can feel secure in suburbia and be glad that they have four wheel drive, high clearance rigs, because "they like to go to the mountains sometimes."

Of course, I have a bit of a personal stake in the matter, I admit. While Yours Truly lives only on a bicycle, and might have a bit of opposition to continued subsidy of single-occupancy vehicles to boot, his -- erm, that is, my -- significant other has what would seem like a perfect candidate for the CARS program. It's a 1990 Chevy Corsica. It's got a V6 engine and an automatic without overdrive. It leaks oil. It's got no paint on it. It's everyone's definition of a "beater."

And, yet, it's a no-go. This terrible beast is far too efficient for CARS'. Why, it gets a whole twenty miles per gallon. Twenty!

Nevermind that she'd be trading it for a Honda Fit or something else with over a 50% improvement in mileage, not to mention the dramatically lower NOX, et cetera, it would emit.

You see, the CARS program is binary; you either meet all of its criteria and get the bonus, or you get nothing; there's no way to get a slightly reduced benefit from trading in a fairly okay mileage vehicle into a great one, as opposed to a crappy milesage vehicle into an okay one, even if the net benefit is identical.

But, I guess, those American car manufacturers that the government just bought out of bankruptcy, what was it that they were hurting the most with? Oh, that's right! All of their unsold truck inventory.

Funny, that.

2009-07-21T08:49:00.000-07:00

T-Town Throwdown

Last weekend, I checked this out before going to my LBS for a fast-paced groupride.

Trials are pretty far from the skinny-tires-and-lycra that Yours Truly is accustomed to; farther, even, than BMX, which still includes a couple elements of racing.

Basically, this is riding an obstacle course on a bike, slowly. Your goal is to get through each "section" in a period of time, without putting a foot down or otherwise losing your balance. It doesn't seem to score any better to go faster than the guy before you, just need to make make less mistakes.

Zoom in on this picture to note that the rider is cycling along the narrow edge of a two by four. The most impressive part of it to me was the amount that the riders could use their legs and the spring of their low-pressure tires to leap their bikes, from a standing start, up onto obstacles.

Here's what they're riding: 26" bikes that look something between a short-wheelbase mountain bike and a BMX ride, but with no saddle or seatpost whatsoever, and tiny gearing. They also had some kind of hub that I'll need to google -- riders could coast / freewheel, but they also appeared to be able to apply backpressure on the drivetrain with their pedals, and when they walked their bikes forward, the pedals turned like a fixie. I've heard of "freecoaster" hubs, I wonder if that is this?

I don't think I'll ever take part in a Trials event myself, but it was pretty entertaining to watch -- more spectator-friendly, I'd wager, than the spread-out road races that Yours Truly prefers.

2009-07-20T07:48:00.000-07:00

Seen at the top of the hill at Redondo Beach, on 272nd in Federal Way, WA.

I am not 100% sure this guy wanted money, but, if he did, it was the most clever marketing campaign yet.

Click the pic if you can't read it.

2009-07-17T15:50:00.001-07:00

Long-term review of Clubman ; Sneak Peak of 2010 version:

I've been rolling my Clubman for almost a full six months now, and it's carried me through nearly seven thousand miles.

That's, well, quite a lot of miles, when I really think of it; I think long enough to give you the rest of my thoughts on the machine. You can read my initial observations here:

In sum: Yeah, I'm into this bike. Enough that I'm thinking about trading it in for the new 2010 when it comes out. Yes, of course, the steel frame will last a LONG time, but check out this sneak peek of some of the twen-ten road steel family. I'm digging color-matched steel fenders, especially since I've broken three plastic ones on the rough roads of Tacoma, WA.

(that's the Sojourn, One-Way, and Clubman, top to bottom)

I was happy to hear I wasn't the only one with a few suggestions about color and shape -- check out the silver bits, traditional dropped handlebars, and bartape -- it's a much more complete-looking bike, and it makes the modern 1 1/8" threadless headset look a lot sleeker.

I've taken it on a couple of fast group rides as well as my commutes, and once it's up there, it's got no problem taking pulls with the rest, although I do feel the added weight getting it up to speed. When it gets to the twisties I can feel a few numbers: compared with my Team Carbon race bike, it has almost 20mm longer chainstays, 5mm less fork offset, 1 degree slacker head angle (72.5 versus 73.5 degrees).

The result of all of this is that the Clubman is smooth, comfortable, and predictable, where the Team is responsive, fast, stiff, and nimble. Overall, the Clubman is your old best friend, the one you've grown up around, spent so much time hanging out with that nothing they do really surprises you any more.

After trying a commute on my race bike, I suddenly appreciated the Clubman more: all of the potholes, ruts, gravel sections, bricks, and crumbling asphalt that grace Tacoma's streets turned against me me. My wrists and back felt it at the end of the day. I had to pay a lot more attention to where my front wheel was going, so there was less relaxing and looking out at the water.

For about a thousand, I think this thing is a great value. The Tiagra shifters don't have the level of positive feel and no-effort click that Dura-Ace does, but they've done the job just fine. If you'd rather dispense with those, Clubmans come with both downtube shifter bosses and forward facing, semi-horizontal dropouts, so you can run this sucker single, fixed, or traditional.

Also, though few people know it: Shimano DOES produce SL-7900, indexed, 10-speed downtube shifters, and they did make SL-7700 9-speed downtube ones. If you've ever tried to friction shift through 9- and 10-speed systems, it's pretty finicky.

One note about those dropouts, though: it's possible for the wheel to move front-to-back within them, so it's also possible to pull the wheel off-center. The stock wheelset includes open-cam quick releases (image to follow), which don't provide nearly as much clamping force as a conventional, closed cam skewer. (image to follow). I ended up having my wheel move about in the dropouts on fairly steep, big-ring climbs, so I switched to a Dura-Ace skewer I had on hand. You can use anything, though -- Shimano sells XT ones separately -- but I still wish the bike had included this style of quick release.

People ask me about weight fairly often. That seems like a silly question to me on this sort of bike, but, if you want a general answer, I'd say "mid-twenties." I weighed my 57cm in at 25 pounds, 3 ounces -- that's with bottle cages, pedals, and fenders. Keep in mind that you're looking at well over a pound for a Brooks leather saddle, and it has tough, wire-bead tires.

Some bikes are comfortable because of fancy-sounding high-zoot bits of springy stuff smooshed into their frames, or whacky sweepy curves all over the place. The Clubman gets it done traditionalism: it doesn't have the thinnest, stiffest tubing in existence, so the frame keeps a lively feel while soaking up the nastiest parts of the road.

Bikes are a little like coffee: If you poll people about what they'd like, they will claim to plump for the darkest, boldest, coffee around. Maybe having the taste for this sort of unyielding beverage is meant to say something about its drinker? In any case, when it comes time to drink, what most people want is a nice, versatile medium roast. Here's my call: Stumptown, from the new Satellite, in Tacoma.

I sometimes plan my ride so as to NOT ride past this place on the way home -- then I'd have to stop, get a cup, and before I knew what was what two hours home would turn into four.

Likewise, people will say they want the lightest, stiffest, fastest bike on the block, and while I love my race bike, most of the time, I ain't racing. And neither are most cyclists. The Clubman is agile enough for most of my riding, reasonably light, and comfortable enough for my four hours a day.

I might have a few more words to say, and I've got to grab you some illustrative skewer pictures, but my time here today is up. I'm off home. On my Clubman.

2009-07-15T08:34:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I was all set to spend seventy-five cents.

In the end, I did not.

Welcome to the Recession.

2009-07-14T09:32:00.000-07:00

Note of the day: GET SERIALIZED!

Summer is bike season.

Summer is also get-your-bike-stolen season.

In addition to typical advice, like lock your stuff up and don't let fancy bikes out of sight, I'd like to add this reminder:

Please write the serial number of your bike down! Better still, take two pictures, one of the complete bike, one of the serial, and keep them in your owners' manual along with your receipt.

It takes two minutes, and even the best lock can be defeated by a determined thief -- in a hurry if he's got an angle grinder.

I've taken a lot of stolen-bike calls this week, many hoping that the manufacturer would have a record of their serial number somewhere. We don't, though we do work with the National Bike Registry if you signed up with them. Your shop MAY have written it down; then again, it may not.

The most painful one was a customer whose bike was stolen and recovered by police, but the police will not release it to them, because they do not have any way to prove ownership.

Here's hoping they get it resolved eventually, perhaps after a waiting period. If they'd just written the thing down, it'd all be sorted out.

If you don't know, your serial number will be stamped into one of a few places on your bike. Most probable is the underside the bottom bracket shell, but it's also sometimes on the downtube near the BB, or, in my case, straight across the headtube near the headset.

That's it for now.

2009-06-30T09:01:00.000-07:00

Livin' it up, Tacoma Style --

Shot from my alley. According to a coworker from PA, this whole shoe-polishing celebratory remarks re: your graduation on your auto is SO PacNW.

In any case, I think this "graduate" appreciated the tongue-in-cheek reference he was making.

In other news, I have decide to begin a campaign against the word "utilize." That's a crappy word. I mean, what possible advantages does it have over "use?" What's wrong with "use," anyway?

This frame USES a 1.25" head tube.

That one UTILIZES a carbon fiber fork.

You should UTILIZE your credit card at the grocery store.

How many utils does this bring you?

2009-06-29T08:07:00.000-07:00

Mom, where'd the house go?

Saw this on a ride to get some coffee after visiting the Taste of Tacoma on Saturday. It's just off of N 43rd and Orchard. We're actually looking at a garage here. Two garages were leveled, and the house behind looks severely damaged -- I'm no insurance adjuster but I wonder if it can be saved.

Read the Real News Coverage here, if you like. The upshot is the only injury was a firefighters' sprained ankle.

I think that the little girl was actually a neighbor, but if I'd have had a better camera than the iPhone, that would have made a pretty cool shot.

2009-06-15T15:15:00.000-07:00

Wow. I'm going to have to get the internets at home if I want to throw down the updates like I used to. But, in the meantime, I saw this on the ride to work today.

Oops.

2009-06-06T13:19:00.000-07:00

I’d rather ride – a brief history of my first automobile

Americans are such a car-centric culture that just about all of us gainfully employed adults have got at least one. “What was your first car?” is a common generic social question, and evokes memories of independence and one’s first taste of responsibility – usually including abusing it, though perhaps less so now as the consequences for doing so grow stiffer.

Mine was all of those, but also proved a rude awakening to the real costs these things can incur upon an eighteen year-old wage slave.

I hadn’t yet moved out of my folks’ place when I bought it, couldn’t drive a stick, and had no idea what a “Supra” was. I picked this off of an internet edition of the Oregonian’s classified section. This was before Craigslist, remember? It was listed as a 1984 Celica Supra, and it had a recently rebuilt engine, fresh paint, clean, etc etc etc, for $2,800. I’d anecdotally heard that Toyotas were pretty reliable, it had fuel injection, rare for its age, and seemed pretty good for the price.

Of course, I didn’t have the $2,500 that my feeble negotiating skills had reduced the price to, only about $750 of my own money from my grocery-store gig, and the bank wouldn’t give out car loans for that little money. Instead, I was set up with a $2,500 unsecured line of credit, leaving a little padding for, you know, groceries, and bought the thing from a guy in a nice suburban house in Hillsboro, Oregon. I figured it was a good sign that he had three other nice-looking Toyotas of a similar age, which he rebuilt for a hobby.

Then, of course, I had to get the thing home, so I brought along my father, who was surprisingly sanguine on my purchase of what was far more a sports car than I’d originally thought.

I’d never really driven around an eighties junker before, but this was clearly not it. Six cylinders with only 2.5 liters, dual overhead cams and all, the motor had a combination of revs and torque that I still admire. I’d imagine that a test-driver in 1984 would be hooked – after all, what the heck else was there back then?

My father drove it back to my house, then I practiced driving around the block, did one session at an industrial park, and I had wheels. I took girls out, I drove to downtown Portland, I drove to the beach, I stayed out late.

I was pulled over seventeen times. What did I expect? It was red, I had a ponytail, and was driving in suburbia at 2 in the morning.

I never got a ticket in that car. Somehow.

Within the first few weeks of owning it, I was getting onto the freeway on a cloverleaf onramp, shifted for fourth, and grabbed a handful of second. The tires locked up, and I steered against the slide, leading to my first full spinout. I hit nothing, and would later learn to drive the car with the rear end as much as the front.

The honeymoon didn’t last six weeks.

Leaving my friend Alex’s place in Portland’s west hills, the car stopped dead, simple as that. It’d crank, but no fire. Nothing.

A long tow later to the one shop I knew cost me seventy-five bucks, and the fuel pump that was the culprit cost a hundred and twenty – except that it was submerged in the gas tank, so the labor to remove and replace the whole deal cost nearly three hundred more. This stung, but I survived it.

A few weeks later, while driving back from dinner with a girl, I suddenly smelled a lot of burning oil. This turned out to be a seal from of the cams simply dropping out of the cylinder head, causing oil to flow out in arterial proportions. I probably damaged the bearings irreparably driving the sucker first to Jiffy lube to have them look below the car, then to the shop they recommended closeby.

That shop was a by-the-book repair place, and I felt gut punched when they told me the news – twelve hundred dollars. There was no way I had that much money, I hadn’t been able to pay off the debt like I’d hoped due to the initial repair. I’d no idea what to do, and I felt it a prison sentence to be returned to the heavy mountain bike my mothers’ ex had left behind.

It managed to rumble the two miles of train tracks that was the fastest way from my new apartment to the grocery store, I got a raise, and I learned of H&H auto, run by an Indian man with a strong belief in Karma. He fixed the car for five hundred dollars, though perhaps not as thoroughly as fictionally named Splendid Motors.

All was fine again, my pride, social skills, and interaction with officers of the law all returned, and I drove again to Nature’s Fresh Northwest for the seven to three thirty am shift. At nineteen, this seemed brutally early, but I grew to appreciate it.

This lasted a month. Then, the Supra got sick. Subtle at first, the motor began to weaken. Then, the thing began to cough, hiccup, and sputter as I shifted gears. It drove, but poorly. Somehow I did not take it back to H&H, nor Splendid, but the little garage attached to the 76 station (which, like all such garages these days, has been replaced by a convenience store) where my sister’s sort-of-boyfriend worked.

He pointed to two things – one, the exhaust system was plugged by backpressure, and, two, the ignition might have issues, but it was hard to say. HIS buddy worked at the exhaust shop down the road that has now become one of those doggie daycares, they were still open – I should take it down.

I now realize, of course, that he was taking as much advantage of me as those types of places typically do, and fixed the most expensive part first. I, of course, wanted to feel I’d come out better than before, so rather than paying a buck seventy-five to reuse OEM-quality parts, I shelled out three hundred for the high-flow converter and stainless steel muffler. I got a throaty roar – after I then paid something like a hundred for new plugs and wires, which had started the whole problem.

Another few weeks, and all seemed well in the world, until on a drive back from my mothers’ the engine suddenly, irrevocably died. I’d no idea what had happened, but it clearly wasn’t good – the whole car had come to a shuddering halt, and the engine wouldn’t even turn over.

That, of course, was because it was seized. I’d learn later it had slipped a bearing, and I did eventually get the thing back to life, good as new, with an imported, lightly used engine from Japan – they pull them from cars there after about 50,000 miles, doncha know. It cost me about a thousand. I had owned the car for about three months.

In the short run, though, the Supra taught me that cars were expensive any way you sliced it, by that point I was making okay-ish money and bought another cheap but highstrung car, spent more money on it, and learned that you can buy car parts on credit cards. Since I didn’t have a car payment, I rationalized that this was largely the same thing.

When I went back to college, I had to sell the Supra to help pay the bills. It sucked. I couldn’t even bear to look at it, and my father helped me basically give the thing away compared to how much money and time I’d invested in it.

Lately, as the week wears on, the sixty-something mile bicycle commute each day wears into my legs, and I think about how it might be nice to use motorized means of commuting from time to time. The idea of eating breakfast at home, leaving the house at seven instead of five thirty, and all the rest seems like it might be appealing.

If my first car experience had been less dramatic, both in its highs and its lows, I might be more inclined to try to make auto ownership work into my budget again. Certainly I could, if pressed, make it "work."

But, while my battery insists I wrap this post up, I wanted to point out that I feel a little traumatized by the whole ordeal -- I thankfully dodged the encumbrance of a car loan in my less wise late teens, and I certainly refuse to go down that road now -- and I fear that anything I'd buy now would be more of a burden than anything else. What will go wrong? How long will I have before I own an expensive metal umbrella? I'm not willing to invest that much time, money, energy in a machine again, not when it's in contrast to the simple, efficient -- to say nothing of affordable -- pleasure of a bicycle.

2009-06-05T08:22:00.000-07:00

My iPhone camera couldn't capture last night as well as I would've liked, but, it was impressive. 88 degrees when I left work, 83 when I got home, then an hour later the wind picked up to that typical summer thunderstorm weather that the Pacific Northwest is largely shielded from.

Impressive.

2009-06-03T12:54:00.000-07:00

Received in the snail mail today, on piece of 4” x 6” yellow pad paper:

HOW MAY I HAVE A
RALEIGH BIKE
REPLACEMENT PARTS
CATALOG SEND TO MY
HOME, OR CAN I ?
HOW MUCH DOSE CATALOG
COAST? PLEAES
LET ME KNOW.

“THANK YOU! !”

(name redacted.)

2009-05-19T14:02:00.000-07:00

It's been a while, hasn't it?

I have a few fairly random observations to get back to. First of all, what's the special property of English Muffins that makes them take twice as long to toast as, you know, toast? I have to hit the button twice on those.

That reminds me of this hilariously cheapskate hostel I stayed in in Barcelona called the Sun and Moon. It WAS affordable, at about 20 euro per night per person, and free breakfast was included -- because, of course, that makes good advertising. But, really, they did not want to give away free breakfast at all, so what they did was make it from between 8:00 am to 9:00 am. At a youth hostel. In Barca. A single hour. All they had was cornflakes, white bread, milk, yogurt, butter, and jam, and a single toaster capable of fitting 2 slices of bread.

For the entire hostel. And this was a terrible toaster, it took 2 whacks to get the job done on regular bread.

They also charged a key deposit, even though their hostelling association claimed they didn't do that, and charged to rent blankets (I brought one, thankfully), and to use the luggage room, and to use the lockers.

We stayed in a room that was about the size of a two-person hotel room in the states, meant to sleep six in bunk beds, but they'd added another two beds in the corner -- you could tell they weren't meant to be there, since the other six had a light and power outlet.

But it wasn't so bad, really -- the place was clean and quiet, and since I wasn't there to party until six in the morning, that worked out. The shower was tiny, and just a single one, but it was a solo shower for the room. This worked fine, because the most people staying there during my stay was four, considering it was January. I hate to think of eight folks duking it out for the 1 WC -- though there was another solo in the common area downstairs -- but it was much cleaner and functioned better than the push-button gym showers at other hostels.

Speaking of security, what's with all of these high security passcodes? I just had to register for my insurance company's website with a fancy unique password, and that's I guess okay, but then my time clock at work did the same thing. I went from a password of "1234" to "123456aB," because I am required to have at least 8 characters, including capital and lowercase letters AND numbers or special characters. And, yes, I'm publishing the password, in full, on the internet, because I DON'T CARE!

Someone might, I recognize, HACK into my account and clock me in early tomorrow. I may have to ask payroll to clock me in at the proper time manually. The horror.

US Bank is the only place that I've seen whose security regulations make sense. What they do is have a SEPARATE page for entering username and password, with a secure load between them. Fail, and you are kicked out of the website entirely. That way, a bot cannot sit there trying lots of combinations. They also have a sign-countersign type of response, where THEY provide YOU with a password and image, unique to you -- this way you can't have a phishing scheme trick you into entering your password into a dummy site.

I'm sure I have something else in mind, too.

2009-05-15T09:05:00.001-07:00

Happy Bike to Work Day!

Raleigh out on the trail, handing out schwag to all comers:

Matt and Paul, Avenir Parts and Accessories Extraordinaires, handing out coffee and Clif bars!

The bike garage is more full than usual today...

And here's Monette and Alexander, cooking up a delicious storm. Thanks!

2009-05-07T12:58:00.000-07:00

My coworker Karl and I have been commuting into work by bicycle together at least a couple of times a week in the past month, and he's carpooled me home a few times, too. He also sits one desk over, eight hours a day.

This results in entirely too much time spent in one anothers' presence.

Witness this e-mail I just received from the man. It's one big inside joke.

Actually, it's about 37.

T: Hey Karl hows it going?
K: I think you mean’t “How’s it going?”
T: FWIW, you are a f-tard.
K: Okay. What is a f-tard? Do you know?
T: Someone who eats meat.
K: Interesting. [cave man sound due to train tracks]
T: Noob. U r 901ng 2 g37 pwned 1F u 3\/4R m0\/e 0u7 ()f Cr45|-| 6.
K: Look, a duck!
T: What did you have for dinner last night?
K: Pattes de Grenouilles with Foie Gros and Escargot on the side.
T: Capitalist Pig!
K: What about Team Bbox?

2009-05-04T14:57:00.001-07:00

I'll admit that the whole idea of Widget Awareness Week and National Fnord Day is a little silly, but May is alternatively Bike to Work Month or Bicycle Commuter Month or just plain Bike Month or what have you, with either last Friday, this Friday, or Next Friday described as "Bike to Work Day."

Raleigh America, my employer, will be participating in the Cascasde Bicycle Club's Group Health Commute Challenge, as well as a bike commuter dealio called the Rush Hour Revolution.

The conclusion of all of this -- My Clubman and I will be out there, rattling across the rough roads of Tacoma, even if I question my sanity as I ask my strangly sore and swollen fingers and toes why they're doing this. (Here's hoping I don't have some kind of strange infection of doom.)

If there's one thing I would ask of you to do, it's -- hrm, no, the ONE thing I'd ask you to do is get on your bike.

The SECOND thing I'd ask you to do, though, is this: Ride your bike to work on Friday, May 15th, and send a quick note to Starbucks about the Bike to Work day that they sponsor.

You see, even though SBUX pays some tax-deductible advocacy cash to the CBC, which is cool, what they do not actually do much to support people commuting by bike to work at Starbucks.

Yep, I worked at the large, Seattle-based coffee corporation for a time, and rode my bike to work there. There was indeed a bike rack in front of the store I spent the most time at, but that's because the strip-mall complex in which the SBUX was located decided to install racks at regular intervals throughout the complex. Huzzah for them.

But most Starbucks don't have bike racks, and when I asked "Mission Review," a sort of internal ethics helpline, about the matter, they suggested that they'd looked into it and found that each "staple" rack would cost the company $80-something, plus installation, which wouldn't be too bad, since Starbucks has in-house facilities staff.

Decisions to install the racks, though, were not something they were willing to make. Contact your local district manager and facilities coordinator, blah blah blah. Each lease is unique, location, blah blah blah.

Nonsense, Starbucks. Nonsense. Bike racks are cheap, easy, Hollywood Video can hack it, you can. I get that SBUX's within larger office buildings might not have control over their own sidewalks, but there's no reason at all that that company cannot have, as a policy, that a bike rack be installed at each Starbucks where it is feasible. Say, each location in which there is outdoor seating available.

It'd be a good start. After that, of course, having some kind of locker space available to keep my bag and stuff would've been nice (everyone's clothing and jackets were just lumped in a pile in a corner,) not to mention that I had to change in the single bathroom available to both employees and customers, but, so it goes.

Anyway, I know most companies in corporate America haven't jumped on the bikes-are-awesome bandwagon. But Starbucks gives it some lip service and a bit of wallet service. The CEO is pictured in Starbucks cycling jerseys, fer Merckxsake!

2009-04-23T09:36:00.001-07:00

Shoot.

Life is busy.

Maybe I should get that internet access stuff set up at home.

2009-04-09T13:42:00.001-07:00

Dear Fast,

I know I said it just wasn't working out between us, that it was time for us to go our separate ways. Yes, we really did have something magical there, there were some great times, but being with you took so much time, was too expensive, and just took too much. Real life got in the way, you know. I had bills to pay, work to do.

But, lately, I've been thinking a lot about you. The frost seems to be over, I've felt the sun on my legs, and things I see around me keep reminding me of you -- every time I go up a hill without you, sun filtering through the trees, meandering along slowly in an easy gear, I think about the times we did this together, and how much better it was.

Back then, I told you didn't think we could just be friends. I was too into you, the way you made me feel, I didn't think we could just casually hang out from time to time without things just getting hard and confusing. Now, with some time to heal, I'm beginning to wonder if we couldn't make things work out.

Do you think maybe you'd like to get together sometime, you know, and see what happens? No commitments or anything, but, it might be fun.

What do you think?

2009-04-06T13:46:00.000-07:00

I've declared that the phrase "STIMULUS PACKAGE" is hereby stricken from colloquial speech. Seriously. It's played out.

(I'll improve on YOUR methods!)

In other news, I recently went to the optometrist.

Last time I did this, about 3 years ago, I was paying out of pocket, so I went to Costco for a contact lens exam. I think it set me back $75?

This time, I had vision insurance, so I went to the provider my insurance recommended in my area. It only cost me a copay, but, I got the billing statement that shows what they're billing my insurance: Just over $300. $80 for the "contact fitting fee," and $120 for the basic exam, plus another $100 for something I didn't understand.

Really?

This is not a medical eye exam. I wear single-vision glasses / contacts, I have -1.75 in both eyes, and my prescription is either spherical, or the tiniest cylinder correction on the books. No other issues. I had my old contacts, size remained the same.

I was there for perhaps 30 minutes.

Are these kind of charges normal? Does anyone pay them? Is this just the kind of deal they put on the bill to make your insurance look worthwhile, and then they negotiate paying far less?

2009-03-30T07:49:00.000-07:00

Another day, another broken spoke.

Well, then.

http://www.tacomaweekly.com/article/2916/

2009-03-27T10:49:00.000-07:00

Life.
Equipment.
Weather.

What people can become accustomed to is impressive. Commuting by bicycle is an interesting crucible.

I leave at 5:30 in the morning, and it takes a hair under two hours to make it to work. Thirty-two miles, door to door. Whining melts away. I cannot think about the rain, the dark, or the cold, how comfortable my bed might be. Commencement Bay is beautiful in the pre-dawn, a strange fusion of industrial and natural. Vashon Island’s green is nearly visible across the water; steam billows from smokestacks on the tideflats, the cranes of the port still silent. The trains slowly rattle along the tracks, clunking along as the load up past the grain silos.

Physical limits of man and machine reveal themselves as excuses and alternatives disappear. It’s a little north of twenty hours per week, if I do each leg, with eight hours of desk time in between rides. There is no way to do this without the fatigue settling into my legs as the week goes on.

Tacoma’s roads are famous mostly for their potholes, their cobbles. The Pacific Northwest is famous for its number of days with measurable precipitation.

In the past week, they’ve taken their toll. My fender snapped clean in half. A water bottle cage broke at the weld. Riding home on Tuesday, I broke a rear spoke cranking up the steep section of Peasley Canyon Way. With a rattling fender and squeaky, wobbling wheel, I limped the remaining fifteen miles home. I’d tell you about the headwind of doom, too, but then it would sound like one of those old-man stories.

I swapped the wheel out for a backup, and on my commute in on Tuesday I learned the hard way that the backup tire had seen a few too many miles of cobbles itself. The first flat, in the dark and drizzle of Dock street, I repaired fairly quickly, thanks to the magic of my Lezyne pressure drive pump, but apart from quickly sweeping the inside of the tire there was no chance to track down the real cause of the flat.

Fingers crossed, over the bridge and out of town, down now-infamous 20th until the interurban trail picks up past 74th, through the gravel and sporadically patched potholes that was once Barth Road. , up through the neighborhoods and all the way into Kent.

I think about accessibility as the cars trundle past along their commute. I try not to think of them as cattle. As I cross highway 167 on my way to the trail, I smile at the traffic that ritually snarls this stretch of the commute – and I consider how Seattle’s traffic is supposed to be light compared with the bigger urban centers of the country. I don’t even want to consider Los Angeles rush-hour commuters.

I make it until about five miles from work before the sucker goes flat again. This time, I limp to an underpass and find the problem – the last flat had been from something quite sharp, and a small section of the rubber is completely removed, leaving just the inner casing between air and road. I’m surprised it lasted as long as it did. Thankfully, I carry a boot, too, and a second tube.

On the road again, to arrive at my desk at two minutes to eight. It might’ve been a little more cinematic with a countdown timer, maybe something that goes boom, but, I’ll take it.

Today, I ride five miles to a café and drink coffee, read a book while awaiting a carpool from a coworker. This seems a great luxury, and makes the day feel like another part of the weekend.

A little extra energy in the legs for the ride home doesn’t hurt, either. They feel the week’s miles, the monotony of the flat, stable commute. They miss speed, they miss the tan lines, the variation.

Like clockwork, ninety minutes into the ride home, I feel how much I need dinner. As I roll over the bridge back into town, ready to put the day’s ride away, the last five miles stretch out before me. I take pacific to sixth instead of the water. Rolling along the cars, the quick flicks of urban traffic somehow don’t disappoint me the way the drone of the wide suburban roads and highways do.

I enjoy my rides, even in the rain and mud and sand and cold. But, once all that complaining about hard is done, I find that I am not a robot after all. I get cold, I run out of energy, I’m not as fresh four days into the week as on Monday. Both body and metal need maintenance.

Happy Friday.

2009-03-20T16:41:00.000-07:00

"I didn't see you."

A phrase heard all too often by cyclists, and I heard it about a dozen times in a row this Tuesday. I’d be concerned that I wasn’t visible enough, but it was all from the same lady, and, yes, I had lights. Several.

It was a dark and rainy early morning, sure. I'll even go so far as to add "really rainy," but, still, paying attention would probably be a good thing.
Unlike the last lady that hit me with a car, this one stopped, and was ridiculously apologetic. On another positive note, nothing got seriously smashed up, though yours truly has a few bruises.

This is a big plus, because also unlike the other lady, this one does not have insurance – at least, that’s what I have to infer from “Um, well, um, I don’t have it with me.” You don’t know the name of your carrier. “Um, no, it’s not here.”

The route from home to work has one section where the all three road choices are
just terrible. I get out of Tacoma via the Puyallup River bridge, where you learn why the phrase “Tacoma Aroma” has become so stereotypical, and head east following the river. Then, I need to continue east. I can either continue on fast, poorly lit Pacific Highway (US 99) – this is a bad choice, gravel shoulders, casinos, and all. Or, I could go all the way to Levee road along the river, which is prettier and has no driveways on the south side but has a shoulder for a drop off. Bad call in the conditions.

This leaves heading along industrial, shoulderless 20th ave E, which at least has wide lines and a sidewalk, but semis and delivery vans turning onto and off of it along with spotty lighting make parts of it dicey.
Now, some people question whether it’s a great idea to be riding along roads like Schuster Parkway, which becomes 2 different highways and is a 4-lane split-level road with a 40-mph speed limit, but I’ve never had any trouble with drivers from behind me.

For me, 20th is the scariest part of the commute. The more driveways there are on a road, the worse it gets. I’d rather ride on an interstate than through some terribly sprawling suburban business districts. These are the places where I feel like a fly on a windshield, and silently fume about things like accessibility.
Tuesday was just like that.

Left-hook’d! (Ow, my sense of security!)

Middle-aged lady in a fairly clean Eagle Talon slows for the stop sign, turns left, and carries on straight into Yours Truly. Wham! Thankfully, she wasn’t going very fast, and punched the stop pedal instead of the go pedal in her panic.

In the impending instant before, I had two choices: either accelerate and go straight, hoping she’d miss, or slow and turn sharply left, along with the direction of her travel. I did the latter, figuring a likely lowspeed collision beat a possible higher speed one. It worked out okay, I guess, I slammed my right side against her left front fender, and emerged mostly unscathed. My knee banged my own top tube pretty well, and I’ve got a few bruises, but that’s pretty minor. Bike’s okay, too.

I was able to continue my ride to work just fine. The driver was pretty shaken up – I think a fair bit more than yours truly. “I’m sorry, honey,” she said, “I didn’t see you, I’m so sorry.” She had to freak out a bit more and hug me before she drove off.

Of course, perhaps she was shaken up by the possible consequences of her actions to me. Then again, perhaps it was that insurance information “Well, um, I don’t have it WITH me.”

No, I’ll bet you don’t.

It’s been a busy week. I ought to post this before I get out the door, even if I want to add more detail.

2009-03-13T14:43:00.001-07:00

First Ride -- Shimano 7970 Di2

Electric. Shifters.

This has been tried before, you're right, but I'm too new to the sport to remember all of that Mektronic business.

So, when I see the blueshirts pull out a LaPierre with a funky-looking brick behind the front derailleur, I had to go investigate. Yes, that's Alex, with this prototype of the mouthful that Shimano calls "Dura Ace 7970 Di2." It's for real this time, ladies and gentlemen. Both Big S and Campagnolo have been developing electric groups for the past several years, but Shimano bit the bullet first and put theirs on the market.

On sale soon at a high-end bicycle shop near you, Di2 will cost you something like $3,000 for the basic 4-piece group -- that's STI shifters, both derailleurs, plus a battery and charger. On top of that, you'll need a crank, chain, and brakes, which Shimano STRONGLY recommends using Dura-Ace 7900 parts for. Expect bikes with this complete group to cost 5-figure amounts without too much trouble.

What do you get for that kind of coin? What's the benefit?

The short version is this: The front derailleur is effortless and perfect.

A few years ago, I did one of my first races, on a rolling course near Bellingham, WA, and I had it in my gung-ho mind that I was going to attack at a certain portion of the course. We were starting a big climb, and a guy a couple of rows in front of me started to accelerate, and I shifted into my big ring to go over the top.

Except, that's not what I did. Instead, I slowed too much and powered the chain over the side of the big ring. I wasn't slick enough to get it going before my rapidly diminishing momentum faded, so I had to climb off, throw the chain back on, and chase. I had the same level of suffering, but rather than off the front of the pack, I was off the back chasing.

All commentary about my skill notwithstanding, this would not have happened on Di2. The front derailleur is the most complicated part of this system, and as far as I could tell simply could not drop the chain. Seriously, this thing has laser alignment. Lasers, folks!

Even my two laps around the parking lot showed me the magic, and unbiased sources confirm it’s the same under full load up a gnarly hill. You can still shift.

We had a technical Q&A session with the Shimano dudes, and I asked them everything I could think of that would foul this up. Of course, everyone asks how long a charge of the battery lasts, and it’s not like a light where you recharge the thing daily. One zap a week ought to be fine. If you lose, wear out, or destroy yours, it’s also the only part of the system that “does not say Dura-Ace on it,” meaning it’s produced under contract, carries a 1-year warranty, and costs a relatively reasonable $99.99.

How about fitting the battery to smaller frames? Sure, you get a bottle-cage lifter that allows you that flexibility, and Alex said they had also gotten several other positions on the seat tube area to work fine.

What if the computer goes wonky on you? It won’t, but if you don’t believe me, you can hit this control button on your bars, and recalibrate the thing if you like.

Want to run your front shifter on your right hand? Can do.

What if you crash that $900 rear derailleur? Well, of course, it’s not indestructible, but the derailleur senses impact and retracts to the top of the cogs, making at least, um, crash-resistant.

Now, how about if you’re installing the wiring, or putting the bike on the car, and you cut the wiring harness? That, sir, is a $300 mistake you’ll only make once. Still, I wish they’d found a way to make the wiring harness more affordable. Shimano replied that perhaps as quantities went up, price would go down some, but they also advised that compatible frames will be able to run the wires completely internally, minimizing chances of damage.

As a guy who has loaded his bike into a van with 20 other bikes countless times, I’d be more than a little concerned about that one! Wireless is a no-go at least for now, though, because of higher battery drain and risk of cross-talk in the peloton causing exciting things to happen.

When riding the stuff, the way that you really notice that you’re riding electric is the mouse-click effort required to shift. On the front, this is a really big deal – no more high effort, long-travel sweep while trying to climb. The rear doesn’t feature a multiple shift feature, but you can rattle ‘em off as fast as you can touch the button. Automatic trim on the front derailleur means one can run fully cross-chained as much as you like, though I suppose it’d wear the chain faster.

Instead of thwacking, rifle-bolt shift sounds, the rear derailleur makes a quick “zzzzziiip,” like pulling down a zipper quickly. It feels more natural than I expected, though I mistakenly tried to move the brake lever to shift, like all other Shimano designs. On Di2, the shifters are both small buttons behind the brake levers, which only operate the brakes.

Two laps around the lot, and several chances to make Di2 foul up a shift all failed. It’s solid stuff.

In short, will I buy it? Right now, probably not.

Cost notwithstanding, though, given the choice, would I race on Di2? Absolutely. No questions asked.

That’s pretty impressive.

2009-03-10T12:58:00.001-07:00

Life is busy, and the roads are long, but this won't fade off into the night.

Still, pause for air, everyone...

2009-02-27T13:36:00.000-08:00

Pet Peeve of the Day: Vision Centers

I have vision insurance for the first time since childhood, and called in a card that an optometrist in my network left with HR.

There's a $10 co-pay on exams, no problem, right?

Unless I want contacts.

Then I have to pay an additional fitting fee "starting from"$158. Starting? What the crap?

The last time I did this out of pocket, about three or four years ago, at Costco, the fee was I think $90, total, for the exam.

What gives?

Then, I try to find some information about additional providers, so I sign up for my insuror's website. Now, this is vision only insurance, mind you. They require me to pick a password that's "secure." I tend to use gobbeldygook passwords, like "dnkqqp", which mean absolutely nothing but somehow can stick out in my mind. Sometimes I do throw in a number or two.

These guys made me meet the following password criteria:

* At least 6 characters
* At least three of the following:
* Lowercase Letters
* Capital Letters
* Special Characters
* Numberals

Come on. This is not the NSA. It's vision insurance.

I hate using the shift key in passwords. I can't remember to type a slash or a colon. My bank doesn't even require this level of security.

2009-02-24T09:05:00.000-08:00

Argentius is moving. Transmissions may be disrupted for a time.

Please do not adjust your sets.

2009-02-16T10:28:00.001-08:00

How was your today?

I thought they'd moved on from this sort of scam -- I mean, really? Really?

Apparently so.

Emphasis mine, but the duplication is original.

"how was your today hope you are ok i saw your item on [redacted] today and
i will like to know more about this item ok and i will want you to be
honest ok all i want from you now is your understanding so that will
can make this transaction true mailing and i will like to ask some
question about this item and i will want you to give me your final
asking price of this item but i will like to confirm from you ok also
i will want you to give me your contact address, full name including
your phone number this are the question i want to ask ok:

1. what is the condition of this item?

2. Did u accept cashier check or Certified check

3. Can u wire the rest funds on check to my shipping company atfer you deduct
your item money?

4. Can u wire the excess fund the payment you will be
receving through western union?

5 Can u send me ur full name and address with phone number for the payment?

6. final price of it and email me to: rodenystamber@hotmail.com

what is there is that don't worry yourself about shipping of this item because i have my own shipping company that will come for the item pick from you when the check clears so when you get the check just deduct your money and wire the rest funds to my shipping company ok stay cool...
Hello seller

how was your today hope you are ok i saw your item on [redacted]today and
i will like to know more about this item ok and i will want you to be
honest ok all i want from you now is your understanding so that will
can make this transaction true mailing ...
---

At this point the entire message repeats.

Fool me once with this one, shame on me.

2009-02-13T10:12:00.000-08:00

Raleigh Clubman Initial Review:

I picked up my '09 Raleigh Clubman last week, and have been rolling out the miles on it since.

The Clubman, new for '09, is the Swiss Army knife of road bikes -- it's got a tool for everything, even if you have to kind of fight with the screwdriver to get some things done.

Some entry-level bicycles use steel frames just for price, but there's a big difference between basic "Hi-ten" steel and nice 4130 Chromo tubing. Of course, the Clubman will never be an ultralight bike, but its 25-pound-ish weight disappears beneath the quality of the ride. Steel also means braze-ons not seen as frequently on modern road bikes: it's got a pump peg, chain holder, and rear rack mount. There's also fender mounts, two pairs of bottle cage bosses and a drilled chainstay bridge.

Picking up where the One-Way left off and growing into a multispeed bicycle, the steel frame and lugged steel fork appear traditional. Classic, understated styling is a nice contrast to the over-stickered, shout-it-from-the-rooftops branding so common on today’s bikes. The slightly sloping top tube gives the modernity of the Clubman away, and will of course be a controversial styling element.

Timeless leather Brooks Swift saddle is a hit with everyone who looks at it, and contrasts again with the modern, compact Shimano Tiagra drivetrain and black Avenir 200-series cockpit. I’m of mixed opinion about about the brown bar tape over wing-topped bars.

There's enough clearance for 700 x 27c tires with full fenders, a big contrast to the tight spaces in race-style modern road bikes, or 700 x 32c's without fenders. Long-reach brake calipers can handle these combinations, too, and if you feel like going single or fixed, it’s a can-do with the horizontal, forward-facing dropouts.

There’s also a traditional, pressed in headset on a slightly extended headtube, so you can drop that King in and ride your bars and saddle level without a riser stem. A few retro-grouches have complained that it’s still got a threadless headset, but, with all due respect – it’s time to move on. If you feel like backing down the technology, though, feel free to replace your STI’s with downtube shifters – bosses are included.

With skinny tires, the Clubman is a fast bike, accelerating nicely over small rises and rolling hills. It keeps up just fine on the single, ahem, club ride I’ve taken it on. On 32’s, it’s nearly a cyclocross bike, though the lack of clearance between caliper and tire means I wouldn’t use it for CX racing. Bring on the fire roads! 73 degree head and seat angles along with slightly elongated chainstays create predictable, neutral handling, though I haven’t pushed it to its limits in the twisties.

I barely notice I’m riding the Clubman. It feels complimentary and springy when I accelerate, smooth and relaxed when I cruise, and the nastiest parts of the horrid Tacoma pavement are ironed over, even if it cannot be run like a tank through all obstacles like the Sojourn could.

Modern categories would struggle to define the Clubman – far more affordable than a custom, bespoke steel bike but heavier than a pure race bike of similar price, the Clubman is the bike you’ll WISH you had bought. It’s not a ‘cross bike, not a touring bike, not a commuter bike, not a race bike; instead, the Clubman is just a bike.

Now go ride one.

Notes: Yes, careful observer, I did swap the bars out on my bike. I know some riders who are entirely tied to wing-style handlebars, and others who utterly refuse them. I don't find they fit my hand style, but it's a personal preference. Likewise, I think that a classic, round-bend bar would really set off this bike, but I've been using this style of Ritchey drop for a few years, and for some reason it just works for me.

Likewise, fenders. This IS Seattle.

Also, the Clubman does include a Lezyne pump, just like the Sojourn does. Thirty bucks at retail, and they work quite well, even if that means you won't need to use that pump peg -- See my review here.

2009-02-13T09:04:00.001-08:00

Stay lucky out there.

2009-02-11T09:04:00.000-08:00

Everyone okay out there this morning? Seattle? Portland?

I live just at the base of a 350-foot hill, surrounded by an admittedly dwindling number of trees, and find the weather out my window has little to do with the "real" weather everywhere else.

This means that, on days like today, I don't realize anything is out of the ordinary until I'm out of my complex and up the hill, when I notice, hey, the road looks all sparkly. While this is kind of pretty, it's also slick!

Yesterday, I got only a dusting of snow on my lenses, but I hear that Seattle had more snow. For all of those folks living in places where it's actually cold, don't get started about how you cna ride in snow just fine, you don't know what all the fuss is about. When it's just barely 32 degrees outside, and the snow and frost is semi-congealed on the ground, you wouldn't want to ride, either.

You've read the physics of ice skating, right? You don't skate ON the ice, you skate ABOVE it, on a thin layer of meltwater trapped between the blades and the frozen surface.

It's like that, only, without the triple toe loops. And crashing sucks more.

This is only maybe four degrees colder than average for the area, but there's a big difference between 35, where it's just wet, and 31, when it's a slick wonderland.

If you've made it in, perhaps you can answer this question about nerves and fingers for me: when I start a ride in colder temperatures, of course my hands get cold, but my LEFT INDEX FINGER almost immediately becomes painfully cold. What gives? I am sure this is some kind of nerve or circulation issue, but I'm not sure if there's an easy fix.

It happens wearing any of my 3 pairs of long-fingered gloves, and it feels colder near the start of a ride. If I ride harder, it often goes away, which leads me to believe it's somehow circulation-related. If the cold "sets in," though, it'll hurt and tingle as it warms up, and then feel a tad numb for the next four hours or so. Weird. Ideas?

2009-02-06T16:09:00.001-08:00

Product Review : Shower's Pass Portland Jacket

Here's my coworker Karl showing it off! Yes, he's wearing my coat, so, apologies for fit...

Showers Pass is both a street in the greater Portland area with a nifty name, and a manufacturer of nifty cycling outerwear by the same name.

If you ride in the wet, you know how challenging it is to find rain-resistant gear that doesn't suck. It's hard enough to balance comfort, performance, breathability, and water-resistance without having to think about fashion!

SP's high quality cycling jackets have been well-loved in the soggy Pacific Northwest for some time, and for 2009 they released a few items that broke the typical rules of cycling gear.

The Portland jacket is designed for more than the cycling enthusiast -- it's for "lifestyle" riders like yours truly. The idea is to make a fashionable, high-tech coat that looks nice out and about, but will serve well when riding a bicycle.

Many people separate the times when they are riding a bike from doing everything else in their lives, but if you bike everywhere you go, if you want to go from your home to your office to the grocery store to the cafe on your bike, wouldn't it be nice to look presentable in all of these places?

If that all sounds like a good plan to you, and you'll be riding long enough and in harsh enough weather that your street clothes alone won't do, look into the Portland.

The Portland is and is available in variety of colors that are stylish but fairly neutral: "midnight" black, grey tweed, brown pinstripe, and beige plaid. I picked the beige plaid, which I might even go so far as to call "houndstooth." Personally, I think the cool factor of this jacket might be wasted on simple black. My Portland passed its first test at the coffee shop near my place, where it received compliments by folks who didn't know it was a cyling jacket.

The single other cyclist in attendance at that cafe was duly impressed when he found out its multi-functionality. The lack of other two-wheeled traffic there also reminded me to get out of the suburbs. Really, though, this coat is styling. Everyone who sees it casually is impressed when they learn it's what I ride in, too.

What makes the Portland a "Cycling" jacket? How is this different from other standard outdoor wear?

The fit, for one. Fairly snug across the chest and lower in front than in back, the Portland fits well when leaned over on the bike. There isn't lots of extra material at the chest, even for the Medium that I bought. At six feet even and 140lbs, I'm often stuck with "shoulders too small, sleeves too short" or "chest too baggy, flapping material on descents," but the Portland sits well. The stiff lower hem and drawcord probably help with that.

You also get zippered cuffs to close down the sleeves -- I put gauntleted gloves over them -- armpit vents to unzip as needed, and a stiff, stowable tail flap with a wide 3m reflective panel. It adds a lot of visibility at night without requiring the rider to wear a yellow coat! You will be mistaken for neither a robot nor a bumblebee.

Other features of the Portland include fleece-lined pockets in the front, for your hands when off the bike, grippy pull-tabs for the zippers, and suble reflective piping around the sides of the sleeves and back of the jacket.

One thing the Portland is NOT is heavily insulated. There's a thin layer of some sort of high-tech fabric inside the waterproof exterior, but that's about it. On the bike, this is a good thing. I think most manufacturers underestimate how much heat the body really generates when it's pinned in an aerobic exercise for a few hours. The wind and waterproofness of the Portland's fabric is mostly what keeps you warm. My coldest commute began at 17 degrees, and while my fingertips felt like they'd fall off, my core felt fine. Under the Portland, that day I wore a brushed lycra long-sleeved cycling jersey and a long-sleeved poly base layer, and that was it.

While it's not as breathable as a thin shell, and certainly can't be stuffed into one's jersey pocket, I never felt stuffy or clammy. At training intensity, I find the Portland is comfortable up to the lower 50's, but I don't think much more. Then again, I run infamously hot. In its namesake city, one could probably comfortably wear the Portland nine months a year.

One miss with the way the Portland fits is the collar. While it does feature a stand-up collar, it's lacking a solid windproof backing behind the zipper, the bite tab is small, and there's no fleecy lining to the collar. This all means that, when in cycling position, a little bit of chill and rain are allowed to enter the coat.

Also, do be aware that the thin insulation means that if you're thinking to spend much time not exercising outdoors in cool temperatures, you'll want to bring along a sweater to go beneath. In just a thermal long-sleeved T and the Portland, I was uncomfortably cold hanging about in the parks of Vancouver, BC at temperatures just below zero. Erm, 32. Um, freezing. Anyway, it makes a great outer layer, but I'm glad my Portland is big enough to fit more layers underneath.

Living in the Northwest, I'm not lacking for rain to try out the Portland in, and its watertightness does not disasspoint. No material short of a rubber suit is truly waterproof, but flood-level rains in Seattle still didn't penetrate the Portland. Made of treated fabrics rather than just a single thin layer, though, the Portland does absorb a bit of water. Hanging up in my office after a rainy commute, it was not fully dry 9 hours later for the trip home. It never penetrated through to making ME wet, so, and that's the important part.

All in all, the Portland is a creative way to live active. It'll always be something of a niche product, but it's one that I'm happy to have.

FOR : Those leading a cycling "lifestyle" who want to combine fashion and function.

NOT FOR : Racers looking for dedicated training gear.

2009-02-03T15:40:00.000-08:00

I'm not shocked that a certain celebrity athlete indulged in Marijuana, or that this storm in a teacup is capturing American attention at a time when, well, other stuff that actually matters may or may not be happening.

Who reads all of these comments on newspapers' websites, though?

Sometimes, I filter through them to learn a bit more about the hearts and minds of the people.

Like this :

"my goodness they should leave that boy alone everybody in there life has smoked pot what's the big deal. i'm extrem right in my views and i think pot should be legal people get real everyone gets high or has gotten high unless your a nerd"

Yep.

Unless your a nerd. Or, apparently, extrem.

2009-02-02T13:33:00.001-08:00

Bicycling in Tacoma is definitely an up-and-coming thing, and, even in the rough economic climate, the City of Destiny is marching forward with its long-awaited urban revival, even if progress is a bit slower now than it might've been pre-recession.

Every time I go through this town the weight of history is strange -- there are so many shuttered windows, but more and more I see signs of life.

Last Saturday I hopped off of the admittedtly short-ranged Tacoma Link light rail at the Tacoma dome and walked into the brand new bike shop in the Dome District: Tacoma Bike. Owner Mike Brown said he wanted to keep it real, and keep it simple. The shop's located at 309 Puyallup Avenue -- the road that turns into SR-99 heading north from town across the Puyallup River bridge.

If you want to get into T-town on a bike, you're pretty much going to ride past it unless you come from way the heck around back on River Road, or sneak in across the Morgan Murray while you can.

Anyhow, good location from the outside.

Inside, while clearly Tacoma Bike is still a work in progress, with little on the freshly-painted walls, they've got a great space in a cool old warehouse building, with exposed beams and vaulted ceilings above, and a nice view of the new bridges and construction out the big back window. Passing trains are visible from inside the store. It'd be a cool spot to have a cafe, if it weren't a bike shop.

Mike stocks bicycles from Giant and Marin, with a few smaller brands like Rocky Mountain Cycles out of Canada (and proud owner of the one and only Bike.com), Co-Motion Cycles out of Oregon (though I only saw single bikes from this famed tandem builder). I saw a Look and an Orbea or two, I think.

Their service department is in one corner of the shop, and another houses a curtain and a fit machine -- a nice touch to prove that Mike and co. are serious about setting riders up on a ride that fits them.

They've also got Assos clothing -- the Gucci of the cycling world. Whatever you think of their $500 jackets, it's the only place between Redmond and Portland that you can buy it, and I've got to say, it's pretty high quality stuff. Assos used to stand alone in selling $200 jerseys, but now it feels as though every manufacturer is jumping on the uber-premium bandwagon. I guess in a land of $500 handbags, I guess, why not? All I know is their leg warmers are the only ones that I can get to stay up, and they don't even have grippers.

Round it out with some spiffy euro-pro jerseys, Seal Line dry bags, and fancy tires, and you've got a shop in which every roadie will find something to drool over. Tacoma Bike didn't seem too heavy on the mountain bike stuff yet, and it also didn't appear a dedicated commuter store, though they're happy to sell locks, tubes, and service your get-round bike.

All in all, from all of us: Welcome to the neighborhood! We need you -- at least says this Portland transplant, a city with twice the population and twenty times the bike shops.

2009-02-01T19:08:00.000-08:00

Somehow this made it through to our office, but I don't THINK it'll be at a bike store near you.

If you need clarification, this is meant to hang on a bicycle for sale on the floor of what I can only presume will be a multi-sport athletics / outdoor store. There are others that point out the benefits of Hybrids and Cruisers. This one is for full-suspension mountain bikes.

Note the "lightweight, durable construction," and "performance engineered suspension design." This will be funny to you if you think "sport-tuned suspension" is funny in a car.

Too bad we don't have a specific tag for BMX bikes with 24 inch wheels.

Also, I know Starbucks is mixing it up a bit in a desperate attempt to stem the bleeding, and further that my vegetarianism creates a bias, but, wow, is this NOT the most disgusting new food product to hit the market?

Perhaps releasing the marvels of oatmeal on the mocha-chugging masses wasn't as efficient as they hoped.

I thought that this was a joke at first.

I HOPED that this was a joke, at first.

Then again, those disgusting meat on an english-muffin sandwiches behind the thing don't look particularly appetizing either -- I suppose that's why Howard is killing them in a return to the basics of coffee. Wait. Oh, nevermind.

2009-01-30T16:45:00.000-08:00

Another Iberipic or three:

2009-01-30T12:20:00.000-08:00

I keep wanting to write about the sorts of day to day things that you, dear rider, might be interested in, like details of my trip to Spain, or how cycling in the snow went, or the flaritalutions of the umdurians.

Instead, all my fingers are inclined to type about is the demise of Starbucks, a former employer of your humble narrator.

Warning : this is fairly verbose. The concise version is this: Starbucks has increased its demands upon workers, while significantly decreasing the benefits it offers to them.

Not to terribly long ago I wore a green apron, and reasonably proudly: Sure, they were a publicly traded company, but they were a smart one. An ethical one, who paid their employees a benefits package that was actually livable, that treated growers well and maintained high standards in producing excellent coffee.

Yes, in their transition to the ubiquity they'd sacrificed being a 10-out-of-10 coffee supplier to a solid 7, but you could get that 7 anywhere you pleased. In addition, they'd opened up a whole new market for independent coffee shops to provide that superlative coffee experience. Or whatever you'd like to call it.

There would be no Stumptown if not for Starbucks, I promise you that much.

A year or so ago, sure, the slumping economy was kicking SBUX in the shorts the way it was everybody else, but like their mission statement pointed out, profitability was important to future success, but the goal was building sustainable value and involvement with customers, communities, and coffee -- not day to day share prices. When Howard Schultz returned to his CEO post after an absence, he expressed his displeasure with some of the slack in coffee standards that had slowly eroded the quality of espresso drinks at the 'Bux.

Not that 90% of American consumers WANT quality espresso drinks at Starbucks, but that's beside the point.

Schultz restored some of the standards that some might think would be a given -- using a freshly rinsed shot glass for each shot of espresso, or ensuring that shots were appropriately timed before serving them to customers.

It didn't last.

Quickly, as short-term profits declined, Starbucks re-wrote its mission statement. No longer was "Premiere purveyor of finest coffees in the world," included. Instead, though, there WAS a statement about the S-word. No, the other one. Shareholder Value. That one.

And, as the stock price of a luxury good drifted down with the rest of the economy, predictable but deplorable decisions were made.

Among them, coffee standards were let go -- we stopped providing two rotating coffees weekly, most stores stopped brewing anything but a single coffee for most of the day, and shot glasses went away nearly entirely. I'll say little more about the kind of quality that filtered down into espresso drinks when, shortly after a theoretical re-commitment to espresso quality, the next releases were sorbetto, smoothies, and whacky "tea lattes."

But honestly, the race towards coffee mediocrity was no surprise to me. For most Starbucks customers, like I said, that ship had long since sailed. When you're getting two ounces of coffee along with eighteen ounces of milk, it really doesn't make any difference that this was good coffee, and it makes even less difference if you add two hundred calories worth of "naturally flavored" syrup to the mix. When making every good cup of coffee lengthens that drive-through line just a little bit more, I understand the march of efficiency over excellency.

That's not my beef today.

What pushed me over the edge was the sacfice of the employees -- ahem, sorry, the "partners" -- to the devil of the stock price. Retail employers are notorious for offering conditions that would please few bar Jurgis Rudkis. For a moderately challenging, mind-numbingly repetitive, artificially socially acclimated work environment, one is paid whatever minimum wage level one's state of residence cares to set, occasionally with another "perk" or two like a ten percent discount (Wal-Mart, Target) and some marginal level of health care with minimal to no employer contribution.

Starbucks stood out as an exception. This was the company that was consistently towards the top in the Fortune Top 100 companies to work for. You got a base pay that exceeded minimum wage -- by a little to begin with, and more in three months. Hourly employees split gratuity, which while not huge adds something like ten to twenty per cent to an employee's wages, a nice bump.

The total benefits package, though, was awesome. Even hourly retail employees, you got a sizable amount of vacation time, a fairly respectable 401(k) plan, personal days, and, of course very affordable health care -- this along with your 30% discount and free coffee.

While the 30% discount and free coffee have not ended -- and likely will not, I'd venture, since they make the company money -- the fringe benefits that make working at Starbucks a sustainable, livable experience have been considerably eroded, and with increasing layoffs and store closures, I'm concerned that the race to the bottom is not yet over.

Recently, Starbucks significantly increased its demands upon workers. As most in the service industry know, to make ends meet, it's typical to work more than one job, as being guaranteed full-time employment is unlikely, and even with a single full work-week, and entry-level employee is likely to need to supplement his income. Previously, there was no official definition of a "full-time barista." A new computerized attendance system was implemented which required "full-time employees," those working thirty or more hours per week, to be available eighty per cent of store operating hours.

For many stores, like the one where I worked open seven days a week, 0430 to 0100, this essentially means all of the time. Do the math, if you like. An employee's ability to have a second job is seriously reduced by demanding they be available this many hours, but, in return, all they get is the POSSIBILITY of full-time work. While the "full time" employees are given priority in scheduling over the "part time" ones, they are not promised any particular number of hours.

To make sure they keep working, the number of vacation days available to hourly workers was drastically reduced. Personal holidays, of course, had to go. The waiting period was doubled before one started accumulating vacation hours. If I am doing it right, let’s take an hourly partner – but one working forty hours per week – who has just completed their first year at Starbucks. Under the old version of vacation hours, they’d have about a week and a half of vacation available to them, and for their next year, they’d get two weeks, plus two “personal days,” use ‘em or lose ‘em.

The new version, the first-year employee would have about 2 days’ worth of vacation. Their second year, they’d get a single week.

Doesn’t that sound nice?

Of course, it’s likely they’ll have a lot less working hours, anyhow. I’m happy that I got out when I did, which is a pity – there was a day when I’d have happily recommended the job.

As far as I know, the flagship benefits like identical health care for part time workers and full-timers haven’t been changed. I think they’ll cut health care costs by eliminating the number of part time workers eligible for these benefits, since the new attendance system weights available hours differently for “full-timers,” leaving less space available for those who’d like to work more than twenty but less than about forty hours; working parents come to mind.
Paying about three-quarters of an employee’s health care costs, and offering things like same-sex partner benefits still puts SBUX ahead of many other retail chains in terms of total benefits package, and I shouldn’t dismiss that by this critique, but still: the slow erosion of quality benefits is one of the things that labor organizers attempt to prevent. Starbucks at one point also had significantly lower employee turnover than other retailers.

I wonder if that, too, will change.

2009-01-28T15:52:00.001-08:00

Yeah, I'm back from Spain. Still working on resetting the jet lag and catching up at work.

I thought I was done riding in the snow, but yesterday proved me wrong...

2009-01-19T23:37:00.000-08:00

No Uncertain Terms:

A brief hello from Spain to write you on Obama´s inauguration day.

In case you were wondering about much of the rest of the world´s opinion on George W. Bush, here´s a brief excerpt from El Periodico, one of Spain´s popular dailies. On the front, it has a picture of Obama entering a door, and the back page has, of course, Bush´s back, walking out. About Bush, it says,

´´El último error de América.´´

Continuing, the article -- keep in mind this is not even an editorial section, though of course the format is a little different around here -- says ´´Empezó con una discutida victoria ... y se va como un perdedor. Se dice de George W Bush que es probablamente el peor presidente de la historia de EEUU. Seguramente es peor de los últimos cien años, como minimo. Nos deja un mundo más pelogroso ... más injusto, y más pobre...¨

In my clumsy translation, it says, ´´he began with a disputed victory, and leaves as a loser. It is said of George W Bush that he is probably the worst president in the history of the United States. Certainly, he is the worst of the last century at least. He has left us a world that is more dangerous, with more injustice, more poverty...¨

(El Periódico de Catalunya, 20 Feb 2009)

2009-01-09T11:54:00.000-08:00

Tell it like it is --

Sometimes "filler" news stories get blown a little out of proportion. Take this one:

I saw this story on the default "welcome" pages on MSN, Yahoo, and one other source that I can't remember. It's everywhere! The essebce of it: retirement age woman discovers a 19th-century piece of sporting memorobilia, thinks it may be valuable, puts it on eBay. High levels of interest cause her to pull back the eBay sale, which of course violates the TOS but, whatever.

The big fuss is over the selling price -- the headlines say things like, "Woman almost sells rare card for $10." Ohmigosh, really?
No, not really.

What she did was start the auction on eBay for 10 dollars. That is ENTIRELY different. I have never sold anything worth nearly as much as this card -- which may be a high five figure amount -- but I've sold lots of three- and four-figure items, and each one starts at the same price.

$0.99.

It is an auction, you know.

With bids.

Ebay gets about a gajaoijfeaillion unique visitors each day, and there are probably more bots and sniping programs combing for deals. This is about as close as it gets to Perfect Competition as it gets. The imperfection here, of course, is that all parties do NOT have equal knowledge about the product, but that's okay.

The point is that this card would never in a million years have sold for ten dollars. The nintety-nine cents items I list sell for anywhere from ten tollars to a thousand, and they always sell for what they are worth. Hooray, capitalism! (at least, some of the time.)

2008-12-30T12:35:00.000-08:00

Prodcut Review -- Allay Racing 2.1 (by Topeak) Saddle

I can't get it out of my head that I am back in 1991, when I was NOT one of the cool kids with Air Jordan Pumps, or even the equivalent Reeboks. You know the kind, with the pump on the tongue?

Topeak has decided to give that route a go, but for saddles, instead of shoes. They've created the Allay line of air-cushion saddles, which feature normally padded sit-bone aft joined with an air bladder in the middle. Saddle makers try all sorts of things with the goal of relieving pressure on the perineal nerve. Feel free to Google that if you'd like the anatomical details; I won't get too involved with it here.

Yours Truly is in an odd position to review this saddle, as I am not in the position of finding a great deal of discomfort with current offerings. I personally feel that saddle comfort is more an issue of position and fit than it is of saddle material. Also, your muscles support a great deal of your weight while riding, and they get more accustomed to doing so as I put in more miles.

I wasn't surprised to see the idea of an air-cushion saddle for the recreational and comfort market, but the Allay line is weighted towards the sport and racer crowd. How does it stack up?

Allay's Racing is available in a variety of widths along its model range, from 130 to 160mm for men, and a wider 150 to 170mm for women, who tend to have wider sit bones. Dealers are provided with a memory foam cushion upon which the customer sits, and this helps them select the proper saddle width. Caveat lector: Yours Truly picked out the narrower 130mm saddle without this fit step. Still, I think I have a pretty good sense of what saddle size is appropriate for me.

The Racing 2.1 features an integrated, adjustable pump and pressure relief valve to tune the air bladder, while the more affordable 1.1 features an external, removable pump, which is supplied with the saddle. While the integrated valve allows on-the-fly adjustment, I inadvertently depressed the release valve on a number of occasions as I moved my bike out of racks, or carried it up the stairs to my apartment. Not a crippling flaw, but certainly annoying.

As I ride on the Allay, in normal, commuting conditions on my Raleigh Sojourn touring bike, for the most part I don't notice it. No news is definitely good news for a saddle! I will point out that in my long-distance riding position I don't put a whole lot of pressure on my perineal area -- a properly fitted bike and saddle places the "wings" of the rear of the saddle directly below the riders' sit bones. Still, the Allay is well shaped and comfortable for general riding.

As I slid forward into a more aggressive position, I nearly fell off my bike. It felt like going from walking on solid ground to a floating dock on a lake -- while I didn't feel pressure or discomfort, I felt uncertain feedback beneath me. If you've ever watched a cyclist riding a time trial, they slide far forward onto the very end of their saddles. It looks terrible, but for shorter distances it's okay, since most of the weight is on one's legs and arms!

The Allay doesn't make this kind of riding easy. Another struggle I had with the Allay was cornering at speed. While I don't do a lot of this with my Sojourn, it's even harder with the Allay. To corner with confidence, you press the inside of your thigh against the nose of your saddle to help transition your weight through the turn -- this is also why those novel "noseless" saddles are a non-starter. With the Allay, I was pressing my thigh against an inflatable bladder, and felt less than confident about the feedback I received.

Finally, during fairly aggressive riding, I noticed myself armed with fewer positions, as I had to be careful to avoid weight on the part of the saddle where the air bladder transitioned into the normal padding -- it didn't have any flex, and was easy to make uncomfortable. This was the only place I felt discomfort or pressure with the Allay.

Overall? I think the Allay "Nomad" saddles, meant for comfort and hybrid bikes, could be a nice thing for day to day riders. I'm not sure why, other than cost, Topeak does not offer a Nomad saddle in anything other than a base model, with a pre-set, non-adjustble cushion, but I think there might be a market there.

Also, if you're a rider that suffers from pereneal discomfort or numbness, and those wretched "cutout" saddles haven't done you any good, you might try the Allay line before giving up the ghost on riding altogether. As for Yours Truly, I'm comfortable with my San Marco Concour Lite Aspide.

2008-12-29T16:01:00.000-08:00

In Portland this weekend, there was an unusual bout of pre-Yuletide snow, and it remained throughout most of my visit there. It kept me from bringing a bike to ride in ptown, and cancelled all but presumable the silliest of group rides. This was the closest to a Raleigh I came:

But, I did get a chance to check out Custom Bicycles of Portland on Northwest 23'rd, where I spoke to owner Adam about the nature of the bike business, and how the current recession was affecting the market. Raleigh sells towards the upper end of six figures in units per year, so it was interesting to compare and contrast. Adam is clearly knowledgeable about the workings of bike industry, though I did not interrogate his previous industry experience.

Adam is mostly into the Triathlon scene, something I'll probably never be personally interested in (why run when you've got a perfectly good bike?), but his business model is pretty cool. They are a dealer for Canadian semi-custom manufacturer Guru bicycles, and they are more akin to a tailor than a department store. Walk in, make a plan, get fitted, discuss options, and wait. You'll have a bike a few weeks later, built to spec just for you.

Yes, it's expensive.

Still, the shop is cool, and while your humble narrator is a long way off from affording such a bicycle, I appreciate the market for them, at least more than I can that for high end shoe and handbag boutiques! The interior is minimalist Apple-store chic, with a few glistening frames on the walls, a single counter in one corner, and a mirror and fitting station in another.

Where are the disorderly piles of tubes? Where is the clearance clothing? Where are the juvenile bikes?

None of that will you find here. All of the wrenching goes on behind closed doors.

I heard another browser examine the frames, ooh and ahh a bit, and then ask the owner "where are the prices for these?"

While I did not hear Adam's verbatim reply, the essence of it is, if you have to ask...